Harry Potter and the Eternal Boundary
by Rick Summon
Summary: At the end of Book 5, someone passed beyond the Eternal Boundary. Now, a group of planewalkers will show the wizarding world that it's not as eternal as they thought. Crossover with the Planescape DnD campaign setting. New and improved for Pathfinder!
1. Prologue: The Boundary Breached

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY**  
**A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover**

**This story and all original materials are © 2011 Rick Summon.  
**_**Harry Potter**_** and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.  
**_**Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, **_**and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.  
**_**Pathfinder **_**and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.**

* * *

Well, folks, here we are in the year **2011**— a mere eight years from the time period of **Blade Runner. **In fact, it's only _five _years until **Roy Batty's**™ incept date. Happy Incept, **Roy!**™ It's too bad you won't live… but then again, who does? (Hmmm… do **Philosopher's Stones™** work on **Replicants?™**)

When you think about it, though, it's disappointing how far we _haven't_ come. If it's **2011, **why isn't it **The Future™ **yet? I mean, sure, **Blade Runner **is a dystopian **Hellhole™** where it rains constantly and most animals are extinct, but they have **Flying Cars™ **and cool buildings that spew **Fire!™** The movie **Back To The Future II™ **predicted we'd have **Flying Cars™ **and **Hoverboards™ **only _four years _from now! Instead of all that, what did we get? The **iPad.™ **Man, **The Future™ **sure ain't what it used to be.

That's why this story begins in **1996,**™ fifteen years in **The Past.™ **It was a simpler time, when people rented **VHS™ **tapes and used dial-up **Internet™ **access on **Windows 95.™ Bill Clinton **was definitely _not _having sex with **That Woman™ **(though that would depend on what the meaning of "was" was.) **Airport Security™** used **Metal Detectors™** instead of a full **Cavity Search.™** And, of course, people played the **2****nd**** Edition™** of **Advanced Dungeons and Dragons,™** which was still being made by **TSR™ **(although not for much longer.)

Now, obviously, they weren't playing **Dungeons and Dragons™** in the fictional world of this story. I mean, it would be kind of strange if our heroes could just go down to their **Friendly Local Game Store™** and buy a book about their world's darkest secrets. So, what _do_ they play in that world? Probably **Vampire™: The Masquerade.™ **I can just imagine **Hermione**™ having a fit about how all their information on vampires was _completely _inaccurate — not to mention **Professor Snape's**™ reaction if he caught someone with a game book in **Defense Against the Dark Arts**™ class!*

For those of you who are **Gamers**,™ I should inform you that the **Planescape**™ characters in this **Story™** are using **Pathfinder**™ rules. If you're not familiar with **Pathfinder,**™ it is the unofficial successor to **DnD**™ 3.5 created by **Paizo Publishing.**™ (The _official_ successor is **4****th**** Edition,**™ but the less said about _that,_ the better.)

So why does **Everything™** have a **TM** on it? I'm testing out the **Alpha™** version of a new word processor **Plug-In**™ for **Authors.™** **Writer's Digest™ **is always full of ads telling you how legally _horrible_ it is for an **Author**™ to write things like:

"_Jake's mom put a band-aid on his scraped knee, then she wiped his tears with a kleenex."_

This **Plug-In**™ will automatically add the proper trademark designation to any **Brand Name.™** When it's finished, it should correct the example sentence to:

"_Jake's mom put a __**Band-Aid™ **__brand adhesive bandage on his scraped knee, then she wiped his tears with a __**Kleenex™ **__brand facial tissue."_

I mean, **Jake**™ may be only six years old, but that's _no _excuse for his mom to ignore **Intellectual Property™** laws such as the **Lanham Act**™ of **1947!™** Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bit of a headache, so I'll just go take a couple of aspirin.**

* * *

_There are worlds beyond the world that you know.  
__Other universes, dimensions — the Planes of Existence.  
From the Sevenfold Heavens to the Nine Pits of Hell;  
From the Endless Waters to the Silvery Void;  
From the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits of reality itself — and** beyond.**  
At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control... the _**Planescape.**

* * *

**Prologue:**** The Boundary Breached**

_It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch... And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as through in a high wind and then fell back into place..._

The first thing Sirius realized as he slowly regained consciousness was that he was lying on his back on a hard, uncomfortable surface. As he shook his head to clear it, he also realized that he currently had a splitting headache.

_Bloody hell… what did Bella hit me with, anyway? I'm still breathing, so it couldn't have been a Killing Curse, but whatever she used certainly packed a punch!_

As he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at a featureless gray sky. It wasn't the familiar gray of rain clouds; it was as if the melancholy gray _feeling_ of a rainy day was being directly expressed in visual form. He sat up and saw that he was sitting on a gray stone platform; the black stone archway he had fallen through stood right in front of him.

Sirius struggled to his feet and picked up his wand as he shook his head again. He felt _miserable,_ and it wasn't just the soreness in his back. It almost felt like he was back in Azkaban surrounded by the constant presence of dementors, yet there appeared to be no other creatures in sight. The platform and archway were surrounded by muddy ground and an assortment of gnarled and twisted gray trees. The air was filled with a horrible stench which seemed to be bubbling out of a particularly wet patch of mud nearby.

As Sirius regarded his surroundings, he realized that _everything _seemed to be gray; the stone, the mud, the trees, even the water that bubbled out from beneath them. It was as if he were inside an old black-and-white photograph. He looked down at his hands which had been scraped by his fall; the color of his skin and even the red of his own dried blood seemed strangely muted. _What the hell? Where __**am **__I?_

The only thing that seemed to be exempt from the pervasive grayness around Sirius was the black stone archway; in contrast to his surroundings, it stood out like a sore thumb. It looked exactly like the archway he remembered falling into, though it lacked the thin veil of its twin in the Department of Mysteries.

_I know the archway must have sent me here somehow, but where is here?_ Sirius cautiously poked his wand through the archway; when nothing happened, he stepped through it, then stepped back. Still nothing.

Sirius racked his brain as he tried to remember what he knew about the Department of Mysteries. He knew they conducted research into many strange areas of magic, but the details of their work were always closely-kept Ministry secrets. Despite this, rumors about the Department had occasionally reached the wizarding public; the most prominent rumors concerned the Hall of Prophecies, which, of course, Sirius now knew to be true. Other than that, it was said that the Department of Mysteries researched the fundamental mysteries of life itself; the secrets of thought, love, life, and…

_Death. Yes, I remember now. Legend has it that the Department possessed a gateway leading into the lands of the dead. I don't see how they could have known that, since legend also says nothing that went into the gateway ever came back. But, judging by my current surroundings, it might be more than just a legend._

_Wait a minute. I'm still breathing, and I feel my heart beating in my chest! I can't be dead! And even if I am, this place sure doesn't look like Heaven. I suppose I could have ended up in the "other place" instead, but there's no fire and brimstone here, just cold, gray mud._

Just then, Sirius heard a faint sound behind him; the best way he could think to describe it was a high-pitched screech combined with a squawk. He stepped off the platform and promptly sank into the ankle-deep mud. Chuckling ruefully, he stepped back onto the platform and waved his wand. _"Terra Firma!" _The mud before him instantly solidified. _This place must really be getting to me; I almost forgot I could do that._

Sirius walked past the gnarled gray trees, pausing occasionally to harden the muddy ground in his path. As the shrieks and squawks grew louder, he walked slowly, his wand at the ready. As he reached the apparent source of the noises, he hid behind a large tree and peered slowly out from behind the trunk.

In a small clearing, two large creatures that could best be described as "bird-men" were apparently feasting on the remains of a scaly, reptilian-looking beast. They were each at least as tall as Hagrid, though their bodies were thin and covered in small, gray-green feathers. Their faces were vaguely human-like with long, pointed black bills. They had no wings; instead, they had clawed hands which they were using to dig out chunks of bloody flesh from their prey. As Sirius watched, the two bird-men both reached for a piece of the reptile-beast's tail; they began screeching at each other and gestured threateningly with their claws.

Sirius began to back away from the grisly scene. Despite moving slowly, he still managed to nearly trip over a root. Instinctively, he steadied himself by grabbing a branch; the bird-men turned their heads toward the rustling noise and screeched loudly as they spotted him.

Now, Sirius knew that most men in this situation would have simply run away in terror. However, Gryffindors were widely known for their bravery (and often derided for their recklessness), and, in both qualities, Sirius Black was a Gryffindor's Gryffindor. In most situations, he firmly believed that the best defense was a good offense. So, instead of running, he aimed his wand and yelled _"Stupefy!"_

It seemed that fortune had favored Sirius's impulsive act, for the light from his wand struck the creature dead-center and knocked it flat on its back. The other one, however, immediately started running toward Sirius with its claws at the ready. This time, Sirius ran, though he knew he would not likely be able to outrun a creature with such long legs. He was, however, able to move far enough away to cast another Stunner. To Sirius's dismay, the red light merely shattered into sparks as it struck the second creature; fortune, it seemed, had not favored him a second time.

The bird-man shrieked and struck Sirius with the point of its bill, leaving a bloody wound in his shoulder. It reached out with its clawed hands, seeking to rip his flesh as it had the reptile's.

Deciding that four legs would be better than two for running, Sirius changed into his Animagus form. The bird-man pursued him, but Sirius seemed able to keep his distance while running as a dog. As he returned to the stone platform, he turned around and gave the bird-man his most intimidating growl.

Instead of attacking, the bird-man hesitated, though its gaze seemed to be fixed on the archway rather than on Sirius. It glanced back and forth at Sirius and the archway as if considering whether or not an attack would be worthwhile. Finally, the creature fixed Sirius with an angry glare, screeched loudly, then stormed off back into the swamp.

Sirius resumed his human form and sighed with relief. The wound in his shoulder was painful, but he was easily able to stop the bleeding with a simple Styptic Spell. After that, he looked back at the swamp, then again at the archway. _There has to be a way to get back… but how?_

Suddenly, Sirius felt a chill in the air — a chill he knew all too well. _Oh, no! It can't be! Not —_

As he looked into the swamp, his heart sank as his worst fear was confirmed. Three black-cloaked dementors were gliding effortlessly across the muddy ground toward him. Quickly, he aimed his wand and focused on his memories of Harry. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

A brilliant white dog leapt forth from Sirius's wand and charged at the dementors, driving one of them away. Sirius smiled, but his joy was short-lived, for the air around him grew even colder. As he looked around, four more dementors were closing in from the other sides of the platform. He tried to keep his concentration and managed to drive off a second dementor, but it was getting harder and harder to keep hold of his happy memories.

_I've never felt dementors this strongly before! It's as if this place… somehow makes them… more powerful!_

As the dementors got closer, Sirius could no longer maintain his concentration. His thoughts of Harry were suddenly overwhelmed by a deluge of his worst memories…

_James and Lily Potter are dead…_

_Wormtail, the traitor…_

_For your crimes, you have been sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban…_

_Azkaban…_

_**Azkaban…**_

_No escape…_

_No hope…_

_Nothing left now…_

_Nothing._

As the dementors' chill took hold of his mind, Sirius collapsed onto the stone platform. No longer able to muster up the will to resist, he lay still, immobilized by despair, as a dementor bent over him and prepared to deliver the Kiss.

Just then, a loud voice shouted something from Sirius's left. At least, Sirius thought it was loud. The chill had nearly consumed him, and he could barely hear or see anything now. The dementor looked in the direction of the voice, then moved away. There was silence, then the sound of footsteps right next to him.

The last thing Sirius remembered before the chill drove him into complete unconsciousness was the voice, saying:

"_Ahhh… a __**visitor.**__"_

* * *

*Is **Slytherin House**™ more like **Clan** **Brujah,™ Gangrel,™** or **Nosferatu?™** Probably whichever **Clan™** has the most **Angst.™** Of course, in **Vampire,™ **that's like asking which **Ocean™** has the most **Water.™**

**Aspirin is _not_ a trademark in the **United States.™** In some countries, however, **Aspirin™ **is a registered trademark of the **Bayer Corporation.™** Make sure you have the correct version of the **Plug-In™ **for every jurisdiction in which your publication will be distributed. This is not **Legal Advice**™; always consult an **Attorney™ **who wears a **Suit™** that costs more than your **Car.™**


	2. Chapter 1: Tom's Diner

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY**  
**A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover**

**This story and all original materials are © 2011 Rick Summon.  
**_**Harry Potter**_** and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.  
**_**Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, **_**and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.  
**_**Pathfinder **_**and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.**

* * *

When I started writing this story, I asked myself: What would be the strangest thing in the modern world for a **Dungeons and Dragons **character? Now, most people would say "cars" or "electricity" or something like that. However, the answer I came up with is both obvious and subtle at the same time: in the modern world, _no one carries weapons._

Think about that for a second. In almost any **DnD** world, practically no one even goes outside without at least a dagger on their belt. Why? Because the city streets are probably crawling with thieves who would stick a shiv in your ribs as soon as look at you. And forget about taking a nice, relaxing walk in the forest; the tribes of orcs who would sacrifice you as a burnt offering to their gods are most likely the _least _of your worries.

So, now, our heroes show up in London. What do they see? Thousands and thousands of people who are all _completely_ unarmed. Even the policemen only carry nightsticks because that's usually all they need. What passes for a "hardened" criminal in London would be little more than an annoyance to a **DnD** character who can _fireball_ a troll. In fact, to someone like that, a modern city like London would seem like a crime-free paradise!

Now, in the _wizarding_ world, things tend to be a bit more "interesting." Dimly-lit taverns and dark alleys with black-robed wizards who serve a Dark Lord? Piles of gold stored in deep, dark vaults protected by goblins, dragons, and traps? To a **DnD** character, it's just like back home! They even use real gold instead of that silly Muggle paper. Seriously, what kind of treasure is that? One little breath and the poor dragons would be broke!

Which is not to say that the Muggle world is completely uninteresting. For instance, the telephone allows the use of the Bluff skill on people anywhere in the world without allowing them to see the caller's face. Not that any of my characters would _do_ that, of course. And they _certainly _wouldn't use the _wire walk _spell from **D20 Modern **that teleports you to the location you're calling. Of _course_ not.

* * *

___There are worlds beyond the world that you know.  
__Other universes, dimensions — the Planes of Existence.  
From the Sevenfold Heavens to the Nine Pits of Hell;  
From the Endless Waters to the Silvery Void;  
From the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits of reality itself — and** beyond.**  
At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control... the _**Planescape.**

* * *

**Chapter 1:**** Tom's Diner**

Old Tom Fenwick, proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron, was cleaning a glass at the bar. As a wizard, of course, he could have cleaned it with a flick of his wand, but as a bartender, he observed this glass-cleaning ritual out of tradition and many years of habit. These days, the ritual also served as a much-needed distraction; so long as he kept his eyes on the glass, he wouldn't have to look out over the rows of empty tables that filled his once-prosperous establishment.

He set the glass down and sighed. _Bloody Death Eaters. _As if it wasn't enough that they'd frightened away nearly all of his customers! Two of them had shown up shortly after You-Know-Who's return and demanded one hundred Galleons a month for "protection." After that, Florian Fortescue had vanished from his ice-cream parlor in Diagon Alley without a trace — leaving no doubt in Tom's mind as to what he was being "protected" from.

They'd told him they'd be back on the first for their next payment, yet they hadn't reappeared on the appointed date. Perhaps You-Know-Who had assigned them to more important duties — such as going after Harry Potter.

Tom smiled ruefully. No doubt old You-Know-Who told his Death Eaters that whoever brought him Potter would be richly rewarded. But, considering that, despite all their best efforts, Mr. Potter was still alive, those Death Eaters would most likely be "rewarded" with the Cruciatus Curse.

He glanced at his copy of the _Daily Prophet _and chuckled. _"The Chosen One", is it, now? Wasn't too long ago they were calling him "The Deranged One." _Tom shook his head. He wasn't the sort of man who believed in things like prophecies or destiny — but he knew that every day Harry Potter still lived was a day You-Know-Who had not yet won.

Just then, the sound of the front door opening caught Tom's attention. He set down his glass and turned to face the two new arrivals.

The first one was exceptionally tall for a woman; Tom figured her height at a full six feet. She had long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and piercing blue eyes which glanced warily to and fro. She was wearing a light green shirt, blue jeans, and white trainers; but it was the strange jewelled circlet on her brow that caught Tom's attention. It was a thin, ornate silver band set with what appeared to be tiny rubies and some kind of orange gems Tom didn't recognize. While he was hardly an expert in jewelry, Tom knew such a thing would have to be worth a big bag of Galleons — a fashion accessory more appropriate for Buckingham Palace than the Leaky Cauldron.

The second woman was about six inches shorter than the first, as well as being much thinner and not half as muscular. She seemed younger, as well; not much older than a new Hogwarts graduate. Her expression, however, was one of unbounded excitement and curiosity, as if she were a mere first year on her first trip to Diagon Alley. Her hair and eyes were the same shade of light brown. She was wearing a light blue tartan shirt with blue jeans and white trainers as well as a brown leather backpack. Like her companion, she too wore a jewelled circlet, though hers was made of intricately braided gold set with sapphires. There was also another strange item on her head; some kind of black band attached to two circles which rested just in front of her ears. Tom recalled seeing Muggle youths wearing similar items on the street; they always seemed to be listening to something he couldn't hear.

As the two women approached the bar, Tom gave them a friendly smile. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, ladies! What can I get you today?"

The younger one returned his smile. She replied in what sounded like a posh London accent, though something about it seemed just a bit off. "Well, we're visiting London on business; we've never been to the Leaky Cauldron before. What would you recommend?"

"I could recommend a nice pint of stout," replied Tom. "One of our best sellers."

"All right, I'll take one," said the girl. "Oh, but do you have anything without alcohol for my friend? She'd rather not drink so early in the day."

Tom frowned. "Well, I've got butterbeer and pumpkin juice. I wouldn't really recommend the butterbeer, though. The kids like it and all, but I've never had a taste for it myself."

"Oh, well, the pumpkin juice sounds good," said the girl. "In fact, we'll have two of those."

Tom placed two glasses on the bar, then filled them with pumpkin juice from his magically-chilled pitcher. "That'll be four Sickles, miss."

The girl frowned. "Am I to understand that a 'Sickle' is a unit of currency? I was informed that the currency used in London was called the 'pound.'"

Tom chuckled. "Well, that's what _Muggles_ use, miss. A Sickle's _wizard_ money." He took a Sickle out of the till and held it up to show her.

The girl's face brightened. "Oh, a silver piece? Well, why didn't you just say so?" She reached into her backpack and drew out a small bag, then removed some coins from the bag and placed them on the bar. "I know these don't look the same as yours, but they're real silver just the same."

She gestured at her friend. "You can trust us. We're both _very_ lawful."

Tom picked up one of the coins. One side showed the image of a ring surrounded by the words **SIGIL** and **CITY OF DOORS**; the other showed a stern face encircled by some kind of headdress.

He tapped it with his wand. "_Veritas Argentum._" As he spoke the words of the spell, the coin glowed, then returned to normal.

Tom turned back to the girl and smiled. "Well, it looks like everything's in order, miss. Go on, then. Drink up!"

The girl picked up her glass and downed its contents in one gulp. Her companion took a sip, frowned, then handed the glass over.

"Here, Phoebe," said the taller girl in an accent that sounded vaguely American. "You can drink this."

The shorter girl, who was apparently named Phoebe, smiled. "Don't mind if I do!"

Phoebe gulped down the second glass of pumpkin juice as quickly as the first. "Mmmm. That's very good. Is this a popular drink around here?"

Tom smiled. "Oh, it is, miss — just usually not in _pubs._"

Phoebe chuckled, then looked back and forth at the empty tables around her. "I'm sorry if this sounds like a stupid question, but where is everybody? At this hour, a pub back home would typically be occupied to anywhere from thirty-five to fifty percent of capacity."

Tom wrung his hands nervously, then replied _sotto voce_. "Well… I don't know how much you've heard where you're from, but things have been pretty tense here in Britain ever since You-Know-Who returned. The Death Eaters've been attacking both wizards and Muggles, sometimes even in broad daylight. Some of the shopkeepers in Diagon Alley have already disappeared, and… quite frankly, the way things are going, I don't know how much longer I can stay in business either."

He paused, then glanced around to make sure no one else was there. "I don't know what business you've got here, but it might be safer for the two of you to go home until all this is over. I just… don't want to see you young ladies get hurt."

Phoebe's expression hardened. "I thank you for your concern, but… well, let's just say that my friend Celeste and I have had quite a bit of experience with people who want to hurt us."

The taller girl, Celeste, smiled and balled her hands into fists. "Ha! I _knew_ it! I _told_ you this place was too good to be true!"

Phoebe gave Celeste an annoyed glance. "Now, don't get ahead of yourself. We must assess the threat level before we can make a rational decision."

She turned back to Tom. "Now… I realize this may sound like an unusual question, but what exactly _is_ a Death Eater?"

Tom blinked in confusion. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Phoebe paused. "Let me rephrase that. What kind of _creature_ is a Death Eater? Some sort of undead, perhaps?"

Tom shook his head. "What are you on about? A Death Eater's not a _creature, _miss. They're the wizards and witches who follow You-Know-Who."

Phoebe's expression suddenly brightened. "Oh, right, of course! _That's_ who you meant! I'm sorry; we'd heard some chant back home about You-Know-Who having undead servants and I guess I just got confused."

She gestured dismissively. "But enough about that. You mentioned shops on a street called Diagon Alley; you wouldn't happen to know how to get there, would you?"

Tom smiled in relief at the change of subject. "That's easy. You just go out the back door there, then tap the bricks in the wall with your wand. There's a certain pattern you have to follow; I'll show you how it's done."

"Well, before you do that," said Phoebe, "I noticed there's a staircase going up over there. I presume this is an inn as well as a pub, correct?"

"Quite right, miss," said Tom. "Would you like a room, then?"

Celeste said something to Phoebe in a melodious-sounding language Tom didn't recognize. Phoebe gave a short reply in the same language, then turned back to Tom.

"Yes, we'll take a room. Just a standard room; nothing fancy."

Tom chuckled. "Well, I'd say all of our rooms are pretty standard, miss. I can give you Room 12 just up the stairs on the right. It's got two full-sized beds, a private bath, and a good view of Diagon Alley. That'll be two Galleons — I mean, gold coins — per night."

Phoebe smiled. "Excellent!" She opened up her money bag and began counting out coins. "Could we pay for a week in advance?"

"Of course," said Tom. He collected the coins and placed them in his till, then placed a large book on the bar. "If you ladies would please sign the register?"

After they signed it, Tom turned the register around and saw the names "Phoebe Silver-Black" and "Celeste Aspen" written in it. He opened a drawer beneath the bar and took out two keys.

"Here are your room keys, ladies," said Tom as he handed one key to each of his guests. "Enjoy your stay at the Leaky Cauldron. My name is Tom, and if you need anything, just let me know."

Phoebe smiled. "Thank you, Tom."

As the two walked toward the staircase, Tom suddenly called out to them. "Wait!"

They turned to face him. "Are you sure you'll be all right? Just the two of you?"

"Oh, don't worry about us, Tom," said Phoebe sweetly. "We're _very_ experienced travellers."

After his guests went upstairs, Tom went back to cleaning his glass. _Nice girls. A bit strange, I suppose, but better strange guests than no guests at all._

He chuckled to himself. _Besides, if they can afford jewelry like __**that,**__ they've got to be richer than half the purebloods in Britain! Although, it's strange by itself for rich folks to travel without their servants. And for them not to be worried about the Death Eaters… they're either very confident or very foolish. Yet, somehow, I just can't see these two as silly little rich girls. No, they're definitely confident… and that's the strangest thing of all._

Just then, the back door was thrown open with great force, making a _bang_ as it struck the wall. As Tom looked up from his glass, his heart sank as two figures wearing black robes and skull masks approached him. _Oh, bloody hell! Not them! Not __**now!**_

The first Death Eater approached Tom and fixed him with a menacing glare. "You know why we're here, don't you, Tom?" He gestured casually with his wand as he spoke. "Where's the one hundred Galleons you didn't pay us this month?"

Tom swallowed in fear. "Well… I mean, I thought, when you didn't show up to — "

"You hear that, Greyback?" said the Death Eater. "He says it's _our_ fault he didn't pay! I don't think I like his attitude. How about you?"

The second Death Eater removed his mask, revealing a face Tom immediately recognized from the Ministry's wanted posters. Fenrir Greyback, one of the most feared of You-Know-Who's servants. Not only was he a Death Eater, he was also a werewolf — and, according to rumor, a _cannibal._

Greyback smiled, revealing a mouth full of teeth that had been filed to sharp points. "I think he's too old and stringy to make a good meal."

"D'you think he might taste better if we cooked him?" said the first Death Eater. "Maybe over an open fire? _Incendio!_" He pointed his wand at a table that instantly burst into flame.

"No! Wait!" shouted Tom. "Look, I'll pay you whatever you want, please don't — "

Greyback reached over the bar and grabbed Tom by his robes. "Oh, you'll _pay,_ old man — you'll pay starting right _now!_"

Just then, Tom heard footsteps coming down the stairs. His heart sank even further than it already had as he turned to see Celeste returning. When she saw the Death Eaters, however, her expression became furious. The first Death Eater aimed his wand at her, but before he could speak, Celeste spoke a single word. _**"Halt!"**_

The force of the word echoed inside Tom's head; a force that was far more than mere sound. It was as if a thousand voices had spoken this word in unison; a thousand angry voices demanding to be obeyed. Yet, somehow, Tom realized this force had not been directed at him; he also realized that he was no longer in Greyback's grip.

In fact, Greyback was simply staring at him with a vague, dazed expression, as if he'd been hit by some sort of hex. Though the mask concealed the first Death Eater's face, he'd obviously been affected by — whatever it was — as well, since he was now simply pointing his wand at empty air.

Celeste, on the other hand, was running down the stairs. "Phoebe, get down here!" Within seconds, Phoebe emerged and followed her friend down the stairs.

Celeste began moving toward the motionless Greyback. "Phoebe, throw me the manacles." As she reached Greyback's side, Celeste glanced at her friend and caught the item Phoebe threw. Then, she seized Greyback's arms and began to wrestle with him.

Though Greyback's expression was still vacant, his body struggled against Celeste's grip. Despite this, she still managed to keep hold of him. But before she could clap Greyback in irons, his expression suddenly changed from nothing to blind fury. He roared like a wild beast, then sank his teeth into Celeste's arm. The young woman grit her teeth as blood oozed from the wound. Greyback's animalistic rage seemed to have endowed him with unnatural strength; Celeste struggled to maintain her grip, but could not stop the werewolf from breaking free.

The first Death Eater had apparently also broken free of Celeste's magic; he aimed his wand at her and yelled "_Stupefy!_" A jet of red light struck Celeste in the side; she flinched, yet the spell seemed to have no other effect.

As the Death Eater's attention had been momentarily diverted, he did not notice Phoebe pointing and gesturing at him as she spoke unfamiliar words. There was a flash, then the Death Eater's empty robes collapsed to the floor. In a moment, she turned toward Greyback and gestured again with a single, sharp word. To Tom's amazement, purple lights shot forth from her fingertips and struck Greyback, who howled in pain.

Celeste fixed Greyback with a determined gaze, then seized him again; but, now, her hands appeared to _glow_ with some kind of white light. Once again, Greyback sank his fangs into her arm; this time, the glow seemed to tighten Celeste's grip and she held him fast.

Phoebe spoke once again while gesturing at Celeste and Greyback. A jolt seemed to pass through Greyback's body; he stopped moving abruptly as if he'd been Petrified. Celeste smiled grimly as she picked up her manacles and clamped them onto Greyback's unresisting wrists. After that, she shoved him face-first onto the floor and placed her foot on his back.

"By order of the Harmonium, you are under arrest!" Celeste turned to Phoebe, who was standing next to the Death Eater's robes. "Did you get the other one?"

Phoebe smiled and held up a brown toad. "Sure did!"

"Do you have some rope I can tie this sod's legs with?"

"Yeah, let me get that."

Just then, Greyback's Petrification seemed to wear off. He growled and strained futilely at the bonds on his wrists; his struggles caused him to flop around like a fish out of water.

Celeste stomped on him, causing the werewolf to yelp in pain. "Now, _listen!_ You're going to lay there nice and quiet-like, or else I'm going to have to teach you a _lesson._"

She bent down and spoke directly into his ear. "You wouldn't _want_ me to teach you a _lesson,_ now, would ya, berk?"

Greyback's expression was murderous, but Celeste glared at him with equal intensity. After a few tense moments, Greyback sighed and stopped struggling as the animal rage departed from his eyes.

Celeste smirked and patted his manacled hand. "That's better." She then cast an annoyed glance at the bloody bite marks on her arm. She touched the wounds with the palm of her hand, which glowed for just a moment. When she lifted her hand, the wounds were gone, leaving only unblemished skin in their place.

Throughout all of this, Tom had been standing in place transfixed by the spectacle before him. As the realization that the Death Eaters had been defeated penetrated his mind, he managed to find his voice again.

"How… how did you… the Death Eaters, I mean… you didn't even use a _wand!_"

"A wand?" said Phoebe. "No, I use a ring as a focus for my magic."

She tapped an ornate gold ring set with a diamond on her right hand. "Wands are useful, but a ring is much harder for an enemy to disarm or destroy during a battle."

"Hey, Phoebe," interjected Celeste as she tied Greyback's legs. "Do this lot have any magic items?"

Phoebe stared at Greyback for a few seconds, then knelt down and began sifting through the Death Eater's robes. "This one wasn't carrying anything magical except this." She held up a wand. "I'm getting the same readings from your boy there; you might want to check to see if he has one as well."

Celeste looked at Greyback, then began to pat him down. She reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, then turned back to Phoebe. "Wait, that's _it?_ You're sure there's nothing else?"

Phoebe shrugged. "I mean, it's possible your prisoner has an item that's concealed against detection, but I've got all of Toady's clothes right here and there's nothing else in them but a bag of jink." She held up a small bag which jingled with the sound of coins.

She turned to Tom. "Excuse me, Tom, but would these two be the 'Death Eaters' of whom you spoke earlier?"

Tom's thoughts were still reeling with confusion, but he still managed to get out an answer. "Y-Yes. Yes, of course." He gestured with a shaking hand at the toad. "I don't know who that one is, but the other one is Fenrir Greyback! He's the most feared werewolf in Britain, and he…"

He turned to Celeste. "Oh, my God! He bit you, miss! Are you — "

Celeste smiled. "You needn't worry about me, sir." She pulled a necklace out from under her shirt which resembled a cross in the center of two circles. "The foul taint of lycanthropy is no match for the power of the glorious Saint Cuthbert, whose divine grace defends my body and soul against all forms of corruption."

Phoebe regarded Tom with a sympathetic expression. "Look, I'm sure you're very confused right now about everything that just happened. Believe me, I would love to explain everything about who we are and why we're here, but what I really think we should do right now is get in touch with someone in authority. Is there some sort of law enforcement that can take these two into custody?"

"Oh… oh, yes," replied Tom. "Yes, the Aurors handle all cases involving Death Eaters; I'll contact them right away."

Celeste smirked at Greyback. "You hear that, dog-breath? You and toad-boy are headed for the dungeons."

Greyback snarled. "You think the _Aurors_ can protect you? Don't make me laugh! The Dark Lord has control of people all throughout the Ministry! When I get out of here, I'm gonna hunt you down and _feast_ upon your _flesh!_"

Celeste fixed Greyback with a furious glare. "Is that right? Well, let me tell _you_ something, berk. I arrested you _this_ time because I wouldn't kill an unarmed man. But if you try going wolf on me, I swear by the Cudgel — "

She removed a small item from her pocket and struck it against the bar, causing it to become a full-sized glowing _sword._ "The only thing you will _taste_ is the vengeance of my _blade!_"

Phoebe frowned. "What did you do that for? You were supposed to keep that concealed! I don't have a spell prepared right now to shrink it again!"

"I just wanted to let this _criminal _know who he was _dealing_ with."

Phoebe sighed. "Well, now that _that's_ over with, can we please just let the nice man summon the authorities before we get into any more trouble?"

"All right, all right." Celeste handed her sword to Phoebe, then turned to face Tom and bowed her head respectfully. "My apologies, good sir. Carry on, then, carry on."

Tom shook his head as he walked over to the fireplace. _Bloody __**hell!**__ I'd hate to get on __**her**__ bad side!_

He tossed in a handful of Floo powder. "Ministry of Magic, Auror Office." He then knelt down in front of the fireplace and stuck his head into the green flames. Tom felt a momentary disorientation, then found himself staring at an busy office from just above the floor. Through the green tint of the Floo flames, he could see many feet running past the fireplace. One pair of feet wearing trainers stopped in front of him, then the young woman to whom they belonged knelt down to face him.

"Hello, you have reached the Auror Office. My name is Tonks. How may I help you?"

Tom paused. "Auror Tonks, this is Tom Fenwick over at the Leaky Cauldron. I've got… well, it's a long story. The important thing is, I've got two Death Eaters here who've been shaking me down for protection money. Apparently, they picked the wrong day to come here, because two of my… guests… subdued them."

Tonks blinked in surprise. "Hold on, now. You say your guests… _subdued _two _Death Eaters?_"

Tom nodded. "I swear, in all my years, I've never seen anything like it. The one girl transfigured a Death Eater into a toad without using a wand! The other girl wrestled _Fenrir Greyback _to the ground with her _bare hands!_ And—and before you say anything, I haven't had a drop to drink all day! I have no idea how it happened, but I swear it's the God's-honest truth!"

"Calm down, Tom," said Tonks. "Don't worry; I believe you. Now, are you sure one of the Death Eaters was Fenrir Greyback?"

"Believe me, miss, I'm sure!" replied Tom. "I've seen his face on the wanted posters, and even if I hadn't, he was snarling and growling like an animal and he actually _bit_ the girl who caught him!"

Tonks put her hand to her forehead and took a deep breath. "All right. I'll just get my partner and we'll be over there right away." She smiled wearily. "With all that's been happening lately, I'm just glad to get some _good _news for a change!"

Tom chuckled. "You and me _both,_ miss. You and me both."

He pulled his head out of the fire, then walked back over to the bar. "Well, the Aurors will be here in just a minute. In the meantime, I'd like to offer you ladies a drink on the house. I know you don't want anything alcoholic, Miss Celeste, but as for myself, I think I need some of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"

Celeste smiled. "Well, I'm a big girl; I think I could handle _one _drink. I just don't want to slow myself down in case more enemies arrive."

"Well, if you two are going to have a drink," said Phoebe, "I suppose I will as well. It's not like _I _need to worry about slowing down, anyway."

Tom poured three shots of firewhisky, then lifted his glass. "A toast. To victory!"

Phoebe smiled. "To victory!"

"To victory," declared Celeste, "and swift death to the Death Eaters!"

Just then, the fireplace flared with bright green flames from which two people emerged. One of them was Auror Tonks, who in normal light had mousy brown hair. The other was a dark-haired man who looked back and forth at the scene before him.

"Right!" said the man. "What's all this, then?"

Tonks looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, that's what Muggle policemen say, innit?"

Tonks shook her head. "Williams, you watch far too much of that Muggle television. Now, what have you got here, Tom?"

Tom gestured at the bound and manacled man on the floor. "There he is, miss; Fenrir Greyback himself, just like I said. These young ladies here have caught him and trussed him up like a Christmas turkey."

"Yes, and I've got the other one for you as well," said Phoebe. She held up a small sack with something moving inside. "I turned him into a toad to keep him incapacitated. Would you like me to remove the spell first, or would you rather just bring him in like this?"

"Ah, maybe you'd better remove the spell first," said Tonks. "Just to be sure that's really a person you've got there."

"Of course," said Phoebe. She opened the sack, placed the toad on the floor, then stepped back.

Before she could begin casting her spell, however, the fireplace flared once more with green flame from which two additional people emerged. The first was a black-haired wizard wearing brown robes imprinted with the official seal of the Ministry. He was almost as tall as Celeste — and about as muscular. He carried his wand in a holster on his belt and held a quill and a clipboard in his hands. His expression was devoid of any obvious emotion, yet, somehow, he seemed a bit more intimidating than the usual Ministry bureaucrat.

The second was a short, middle-aged witch with brown hair adorned with a large, black bow. Despite her lack of physical stature, her taller companion appeared to defer to her. She wore a pink cardigan over her robes with a Ministry brooch attached. She smiled broadly as she looked back and forth at the scene before her. Though she no doubt intended her expression to be friendly, Tom thought it more closely resembled the face of the transfigured Death Eater on the floor.

"Good afternoon, everyone," said the witch. "My name is Dolores Umbridge, and I'll be observing on behalf of the Ministry. So, if you would please carry on as normal. Don't mind me; just pretend I'm not here."

Tonks frowned. "What are _you_ doing here, Umbridge?"

"Now, is that any way to talk to an Ministry official? You know, that sort of behavior could count against you on your evaluation."

"Just a moment here. What evaluation are you talking about?"

Umbridge smiled. "The Minister has requested an evaluation of our current law enforcement procedures. My assistant and I are here to observe the performance of our officers in the field. We may have just a few questions for the both of you; but, first, if I could get your full names for the record, please?"

Tonks sighed. "Look, I know you've read our files, so you know perfectly well what my name is."

"Of course, my dear," said Umbridge sweetly, "but when conducting an official Ministry inquiry, I must, of course, follow procedure."

Tonks gritted her teeth. "My name is Nymphadora Tonks."

"Ah, I believe I asked for your _full _name?" replied Umbridge. "There is a middle name listed in your file, as I recall."

Tonks shook her head. "Look, Umbridge, I'd just love to stay and chat, but my partner and I have two Death Eaters to bring in right now. So, if we could continue this conversation at another time, that would be greatly appreciated."

"_Two_ Death Eaters?" said Umbridge. She gestured with her wand at Greyback. "I believe I only see one."

"Oh, well, I was just about to lift the spell on the other," said Phoebe. "I turned him into a toad, so if I could just turn him back, you'll be able to take him into custody."

"Oh, yes," said Umbridge. "By all means. And your name is?"

Phoebe set the toad back down. "Phoebe Silver-Black, ma'am. Now, if you'll please step back, this'll just take a moment." She pointed and gestured at the creature. _"Minas Haialeth Nomen!"_

In a flash, the toad became a fully-grown and fully unclothed man. As he looked up and saw four women standing around him, he hastily covered himself. "Bloody hell!"

Tonks flicked her wand, causing the Death Eater's robe to wrap itself around his body. "Well, well, well. Looks like yo u're a man after all."

The Death Eater sneered at Tonks. "Yeah, that's right. Like what you see, love?"

Tonks gestured with her wand again, stuffing the Death Eater's underpants into his mouth. "Now I do."

She handcuffed his wrists behind him, then turned to Phoebe. "How on Earth did you untransfigure him without using a wand? I don't think even Professor McGonagall could have pulled that off!"

"Well, you see, I use a ring as an arcane focus rather than a wand. But let me ask you something. Does _everyone_ here use a wand to cast spells?"

"Well… well, yes, of course," said Tonks. "I mean, I've never even _heard_ of a witch or wizard using anything else."

"_Hem, hem._" Umbridge smiled sweetly at Tonks. "I believe we weren't quite finished with our conversation." She turned to Phoebe. "And I believe I have a few questions for these two young ladies as well."

Just then, Celeste leaned over and whispered something into Phoebe's ear. Phoebe frowned, then turned to face Tonks.

"Excuse me, but you and, uh, Mr. Williams here are called 'Aurors', is that correct?"

"Yes, Ms. Silver-Black," said Tonks formally. "I'm Auror Tonks, and Williams is my partner."

"Ms. Black or Phoebe is fine. And you are officers of the law officially sanctioned by your government?"

Tonks frowned in confusion. "Um, well, yes… yes, we are."

Phoebe glanced back at Celeste, who nodded. "And, just to be clear on this, is she — " Phoebe pointed at Umbridge — "an officer of the law as well?"

"_I_ am Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, and I am here on official Ministry business." She paused. "Now, I have some questions for you, Ms… Black, was it? You wouldn't happen to be related to Sirius Black, would you?"

"Uh, no," replied Phoebe. "Black is my married name."

"I see," replied Umbridge. "And may I ask to _whom_ you are married?"

"No one you could possibly know," interrupted Celeste. "Now, _I've_ got a question, Ms. _Senior_ Undersecretary. I get the impression Auror Tonks here doesn't like you very much. Now, why is that?"

Umbridge looked up at the woman who stood at least one foot taller than her and took an involuntary step back. "Well! I don't see how that is any of your business!"

Celeste scowled. "Well, _my_ business is defending the righteous against the wicked. Would you care to guess which category you and your assistant appear to belong to?"

Umbridge's face turned red. "What? How _dare_ you! I am a righteous and upstanding citizen!"

"Celeste, stop," said Phoebe. She spoke in the melodious language she had used before.

Celeste sighed. "All right, all right. That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Umbridge turned to Phoebe. "Might I inquire, Ms. Black, what you just said to your… friend, here?"

"I told her it wouldn't look good on my record if we got into conflict with the local government and that she should please refrain from doing so."

"I see. Well, I'm glad to see that at least _one_ person here respects order. I presume you wouldn't mind answering a few questions?"

"Not at all."

"And I'm sure _you_ wouldn't mind if _I_ asked them," interrupted Tonks. "After all, this is an _official_ investigation."

Umbridge smiled. "Oh, by all means. I'm just here as an observer, after all."

Tonks turned to her partner. "But first, I think we need to get these prisoners back to the Ministry. Williams, I don't think it would be wise to remove Mr. Greyback's bonds, so if you could just move him into the fireplace. Then, if you would take _this_ one off my hands, you can go back to the office and I'll finish up with everything here."

"All right, then." Williams swished and flicked his wand. "_Mobilicorpus!" _The bound figure of Greyback floated up from the floor. Williams gestured with his wand again and Greyback began moving toward the fireplace. He then aimed his wand at the first Death Eater and took hold of his manacled wrist.

"All right, you. Let's go. And don't try anything funny."

The Death Eater mumbled incoherently, as Tonks's magic had apparently prevented him from spitting out his underpants. He fixed Tonks with a murderous glare for a moment, then walked away as Williams prodded him with his wand.

After Williams and his prisoners disappeared in a flash of green flame, Tonks turned her attention to Phoebe.

"Now, then. Tom gave me the short version of what happened, but I'll need you to tell me what you saw as well."

"Oh, of course." Phoebe paused. "At 12:01 PM, Celeste and I entered this establishment. We purchased two glasses of pumpkin juice, had a short conversation with Tom here, then we paid for the use of Room #12 for one week. We went upstairs and saw that the room was satisfactory. Celeste came back down first, and she must have seen the Death Eaters, because I heard her commanding them to halt. I then ran back to the common room where Celeste was attempting to subdue Fenrir Greyback, designated Hostile 1. He bit her and broke free from her grasp, while the other Death Eater designated Hostile 2 cast a spell at her that appeared as a ray of red light. It struck her, but did not cause any obvious effect. Next, I transformed Hostile 2 into a toad and struck Hostile 1 with a volley of magic missiles. Celeste seized Hostile 1 again; he bit her again and tried to break free, but was unsuccessful. I cast a hold spell on Hostile 1, allowing Celeste to restrain him without further resistance. I examined both hostiles for any magic items in their possession and found only their wands. After that, Tom contacted you, which brings us to the present time."

"Results of combat: Hostile 1; minor damage from magic missiles, restrained by manacles and rope, threat neutralized. Hostile 2; no physical damage, transformed into toad, threat neutralized. Celeste sustained minor damage from Hostile 1 which she healed immediately. Personal harm sustained: none. Estimated combat efficiency rating: 92%."

Phoebe sighed. "Ah! It would have been 95% if I hadn't cast those magic missiles, since that proved to be unnecessary. However, I believed it was appropriate at the time, since I had almost no information on the hostiles' capabilities. Oh, well."

She looked at Tonks, who was staring at her open-mouthed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say that too fast? Would you like me to repeat that?"

"Ah… no," said Tonks. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Celeste, do you have anything to add?"

Celeste smiled. "Well, I guess I should confirm that I commanded the Death Eaters to halt, since you didn't actually see that happen."

Phoebe snapped her fingers. "Right. Of course. I'll need to have you initial the logbook."

"Whoa, wait a minute," said Tonks. "Are you saying you keep a logbookof _fights?_"

"Well, of course," said Phoebe happily. "Any fight you survive is a fight you can learn from. That's simple logic."

Tonks shook her head and chuckled. "Bloody hell. And I thought _Hermione_ was bad!" She noticed Phoebe's curious expression. "Oh, she's a friend of mine who's a student at Hogwarts. She's very… orderly and precise, especially when doing her homework. And, of course, she always gets top marks."

Phoebe smiled. "Now that sounds like a person I'd really like to meet."

"_Hem, hem._" Umbridge turned to Phoebe. "Ms. Black, may I ask just how many fights you've recorded in this logbook of yours?"

"In _this_ one? Three, not including this incident. I just recently started a new log, so I don't have many entries in it yet."

Umbridge frowned. "And just _why_ is a young lady such as yourself getting into so many fights?"

"Well, it's a dangerous… uh, world out there, you know? And, unfortunately, when someone tries to kill you, you often have no practical choice but to kill them instead."

Umbridge gasped. "Are you admitting that you have personally killed a human being?"

"Well, I — " Phoebe stopped abruptly. "I neither confirm nor deny any allegations."

"I think I've heard enough," said Umbridge sternly. "Auror Tonks, arrest this woman."

Tonks blinked in confusion. "_Arrest_ her? For what?"

Umbridge glared at her. "Weren't you listening? I accused this young lady of committing murder and she didn't deny it!"

Phoebe laughed. "Oh, please. You call _that_ a legal argument? You really don't know how to play this game, do you?"

"Well!" exclaimed Umbridge. "You think you're clever, do you? You've already admitted in front of multiple witnesses that you keep a logbook with the intimate details of your crimes!"

She smiled. "If you are, in fact, innocent of wrongdoing, then I'm sure you'd have no problem handing over that book for inspection."

Phoebe folded her arms. "I don't carry it around with me."

"We'll see about that. Hand over your backpack."

Phoebe looked at Tonks and addressed her formally. "Auror Tonks. In your professional opinion as an officer of the law, does Senior Undersecretary Umbridge have the authority to compel me to hand over my backpack?"

"In my professional opinion," replied Tonks equally formally, "Senior Undersecretary Umbridge is a _cow._"

Umbridge glared at her furiously. "How _dare_ you! This is _blatant_ insubordination!"

Tonks returned her glare. "No, actually, it _isn't,_ since I don't answer to you. These two ladies managed to capture two wanted Death Eaters; we should be awarding them the Order of Merlin instead of treating them like the criminals they caught!"

Umbridge paused for a few seconds, then stepped back. "Well, my dear Auror, you can kiss your career good-bye. When the Minister hears of this — "

Tonks made a dismissive gesture. "Give him my best after you finish licking his boots. Now bugger off."

She turned to Celeste and Phoebe. "Do you two want to get a coffee or something? It's the least I can do after all this."

"Well, you see, Celeste and I have a lot of _very_ important information to discuss with you," said Phoebe. "And I really think it would be a good idea for us to do so in private."

She gestured at the staircase. "We can go up to our room and talk there. I have a scroll I can use to ward it against eavesdropping."

Tonks shrugged. "Well, all right." She winked. "As long as you don't _murder_ me."

Phoebe laughed. "I couldn't do _that._ Why, I'd lose my job!"

Umbridge watched the three young women walk towards the staircase leading up to the Leaky Cauldron's rooms. She looked back at her assistant, then made a quick gesture. The two of them suddenly aimed their wands and yelled "_Stupefy!_"

Before they could finish their spells, Phoebe turned around and gestured rapidly. Whatever spell she was attempting was a split second too late, for it was stopped short by a jet of red light to her chest. A second red beam struck Celeste in the back; unlike her companion, she was apparently unharmed.

Celeste turned around and yelled out a war cry. Umbridge and her assistant both tried to Stun her again, but their spells were still ineffective. Tonks took advantage of the assistant's distraction and fired her own Stunner at him, knocking him instantly unconscious.

Celeste ran at Umbridge and seized her tightly. The short witch struggled, but Tom didn't think she had even the slightest chance of breaking a grip that could hold an angry werewolf.

"What did you do to Phoebe? Tell me now, and you might live to regret this!"

Umbridge gasped for breath as Celeste tightened her grip. "Just a… Stunner… only knocked… her out…"

Tonks bent down to examine Phoebe. After a few seconds, she stared at Umbridge in horror. "She's not breathing! Oh, my God, what did you _do?_ You've _killed_ her, Umbridge! This is a life sentence in Azkaban!"

"As much as I'd like to put this woman away," said Celeste calmly, "you might want to check Phoebe's pulse before you call this a murder."

Tonks did so, shaking her head in confusion at Celeste's seeming lack of concern. "Wait… there _is_ a pulse! But… but how can that _be?_"

Celeste sighed in relief and relaxed her grip on Umbridge sufficiently for her to breathe. "Look, this is one of those things that Phoebe really wanted to explain to you herself. The truth is, she isn't breathing because she doesn't need to."

She held up her hand before Tonks could interrupt. "Yeah, I know that none of this makes any sense right now, but what I really need to do is get in touch with some of our friends… back home."

Celeste took a deep breath. "Now, what say we scrag and drag these two first, then we can bring Phoebe and go meet our friends. I'd better call the solicitor to pick us up; somehow, I think a person who isn't breathing might attract attention on public transportation."

"A _Muggle _solicitor?" said Tonks. "Is he authorized to know about magic?"

"It's a she, and it was Phoebe's boss who told her, so if she isn't…" Celeste chuckled. "He'll have some explaining to do."

She looked down at Umbridge, who was still silently fuming in her grip. "Look, do you have any more of those Stunning spells available? I'm getting a little tired of holding her, so if you could just knock her out, we'll be one step closer to putting this whole thing behind us."

Umbridge suddenly tensed, then let out a primal scream. There was a loud _crack _which knocked Tonks off her feet and shook the glasses on the bar. As she got up, she saw that Umbridge had been knocked unconscious and thrown across the room — and her right leg had been thrown across the room in the opposite direction.

Celeste, on the other hand, had vanished completely. Tonks looked back and forth at all corners of the room, yet there was no sign of the tall, blonde girl.

"Bloody _hell,_" said Tom as he regarded the now three unconscious forms on the floor of his pub. "What in blazes just happened?"

"She must have tried to Apparate out of Celeste's grip," said Tonks. She waved her wand and levitated Umbridge's leg. "That's a bad idea at the best of times. Umbridge is lucky she got Splinched across the room and not across half the city."

"Is that — " began Tom. He paused. "Is that what happened to Celeste?"

Tonks looked up in surprise as she reattached Umbridge's leg. "I… well… I really don't know. I mean, it's possible she managed to survive the Apparition, but she could have ended up anywhere in London. And, I mean anywhere from the ground to a mile above it. A massive Apparition mishap like that…"

She sighed dejectedly. "I'm afraid there's no telling _what_ could have happened."

She looked down at Umbridge, then at Umbridge's minion. "Well, at least two out of three are still breathing. Fat lot of good it'll do 'em, though. Even at Hogwarts, Umbridge was accused of using illegal methods for disciplining students. There was never any proof, of course, but after _this_…"

Tonks stood up. "I'll see that hag rot in Azkaban if it's the last thing I do!"

"Azkaban?" sneered Tom. "These days, it's a bloody sieve! Death Eaters escaping left, right, and centre whenever they please." He sighed. "'Course, at the rate things are going, there won't _be_ an Azkaban… or a Ministry of Magic… for much longer."

Tonks pounded the bar with her fist. "Well, I don't know about you, Tom, but I'm not giving up yet! I'll just go get my partner and we can _dispose_ of these two back at the office."

She sighed, then looked over at Phoebe. "As for her, well… I've got a feeling she wouldn't be safe anywhere _near _the Ministry. I'll be taking her to… er, to a secure location."

"That wouldn't be the Order of the Phoenix, now, would it?"

Tom chuckled as Tonks stared at him in surprise. "Oh, yes; an old barman like me hears a lot of rumours even in times like this. And rumour has it that Dumbledore and the Order are fighting back against You-Know-Who."

"I don't know anything about any 'Order,' Tom," said Tonks as she knelt down beside Phoebe. "And even if I did, I'm afraid I couldn't tell you."

She shook her head and chuckled lightly. "What kind of witch wears a gold headband and Muggle headphones at the same time?" She reached down and pulled the black band with the two circles off Phoebe's head. "Honestly, that's — "

Suddenly, Phoebe's appearance underwent a startling change. Her face looked mostly the same, though it seemed thinner and more angular. Her eyes, which were previously brown, became yellow. Her hair became the color of a shiny silver Sickle. And, finally, her ears became long and pointed like a house-elf's.

Tonks drew back in shock at this unexpected transformation. Even the item in her hand was no longer a black band, but had somehow become a red cloth cap. She looked at the cap, then at Phoebe, then at Tom. "Did you _see_ that?"

"Blimey!" said Tom. "Is she one of those Metamorphmagi?"

"Well, _I'm_ one," said Tonks, "so I'm pretty sure that she's not. A Metamorphmagus reverts to her natural appearance while unconscious. She didn't change until I removed this."

Tom sat down at the bar and shook his head. "A girl with pointed ears who doesn't need to _breathe? _A hat that can disguise both the girl and itself? Bloody _hell!_ This is all way too much for an old man like me!"

"Well, let's just hope it's not too much for an old man like Dumbledore," said Tonks. "Can you Floo the Aurors again and have Williams collect these two? I've got to take her now before someone else comes in and sees her."

"Right," said Tom. "Should I ask them to look for Celeste as well?"

"Yeah, good thinking. If she's still alive, we've got to find her and _fast._"

Tom turned to the fireplace, then turned back to face Tonks. "Well, Auror Tonks, all I can say is, good luck."

Tonks smiled wearily. "Thanks, Tom. I will _definitely_ need it."

She grasped Phoebe's hands, then the two disappeared with a loud _pop. _Tom glanced down at the unconscious Umbridge and her assistant, then walked back to the fireplace.

_After I call the Aurors, I'll close the pub for today. Then, I'm gonna drink until I forget about all this. I've never been good with Obliviate spells, but for me, Ogden's Old has always been the next best thing!_

* * *

This chapter has been brought to you by the letter **W,™ **which stands for **Wizards™, Witches™, **and **Microsoft™ Word.™**

_What?_

No, not "what"; **Word.™**

_Right. OK, I get that W stands for Word, but how can it stand for Microsoft?_

You turn the **W™** upside-down, of course! Duh!

_Hey, I thought you weren't going to do that trademark thing again._

Oh, right! I forgot to turn off the **Plug-In.™** Sorry about **That.™**


	3. Chapter 2:The Construct and the Clueless

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY**  
**A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover**

**This story and a****ll original materials are © 2011 Rick Summon.  
**_**Harry Potter**_** and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.  
**_**Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, **_**and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.  
**_**Pathfinder **_**and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.**

* * *

As any **Harry Potter **fan knows, the **Order of the Phoenix **movie has a scene at the beginning with a weather report on the radio that gives the temperature in both Celsius and Fahrenheit. As any **Harry Potter **fan _also_ knows, Britain only uses the Celsius temperature scale. Now, there's an obvious reason for that, so you'd think the decision to use both would be simple. However, in the movie business, nothing is _ever_ that simple.

**British Producer: **So, at the beginning, the weather report says, "It's a balmy 30 degrees out there today."

**American Producer: **What? 30 degrees in _July?_ That's _freezing!_

**British: **No, that's 30 degrees _Celsius_ and, in fact, it's quite warm.

**American: **We can't have the temperature in _Celsius!_ American audiences will never understand it!

**British: **Well, we can't have the temperature in _Fahrenheit! _If we said it was 86 degrees outside, British audiences would think the sun must have gone nova for it to get _that_ hot!

**American: **Wait a minute; where did you get 86 degrees?

**British: **Because that's what 30 degrees Celsius is in Fahrenheit! Look, it's quite simple. To convert the temperature, you multiply by nine, divide by five, and then add 32.

**American: **_(takes out calculator)_ OK, so that would mean 86 degrees Celsius would be… oh, wow! 186.8! That's like "hard crack" on a candy thermometer!

**British: **Oh? You make your own candy, then?

**American: **No, it's just that my wife has a candy thermometer and I always wondered what "hard crack" meant on it.

**British: **It's the temperature you need to heat cocaine to when making it into crack.

**American: **Whoa! Really?

**British: **No. Now, if we could _please _get back on topic here?

**American: **Well, why can't we just put _both_ numbers in?

**British: **It's unrealistic! Everyone will know it was just thrown in for the American audience!

**American: **So what? The American audience is bigger and has more money. We're throwing it in.

**British: **_(sighs)_ All right. Whatever. It's not like it's important or anything.

**American: **Wait a minute. Whether it's 30 or 86, I think that's too warm. Could we make it, I don't know… 27? That would be… _(types on calculator)_ 80.6. Yeah, that's better. We'll say, "It's a lovely 27 degrees Celsius out there today; that's 81 — " No, wait, we should round down because 80 sounds better.

**British: **_(stands up) _That's _it! _I have endured your boorish American manners and your lack of knowledge about the metric system without complaint. But if you are asking me to round _down _from point _six_, sir, then I shall have to ask you to step outside!

* * *

___There are worlds beyond the world that you know.  
__Other universes, dimensions — the Planes of Existence.  
From the Sevenfold Heavens to the Nine Pits of Hell;  
From the Endless Waters to the Silvery Void;  
From the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits of reality itself — and** beyond.**  
At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control... the _**Planescape.**

* * *

**Chapter 2****:**** The Construct and the Clueless**

Harry Potter finished swallowing the last bite of his ham sandwich as he sat at the kitchen table in the Burrow. Next to him sat his best friend Ron Weasley; at the other side of the table sat Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger. The sandwiches that Ron and Ginny's mother had made for them were, of course, as delicious as ever; the thought made Harry smile. Even if the company of his friends hadn't been sufficient reason for Harry to love the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley's meals certainly would be.

Mr. Weasley had been called back to the Ministry of Magic on an urgent matter, while Ron's older brother Bill and Bill's fiancée Fleur Delacour had gone out to lunch at a new Italian restaurant that had recently opened nearby. Mrs. Weasley had suggested that the two of them have a romantic afternoon together, though Harry thought it was more likely that she just wanted to get Fleur out of her sight for a while. In fact, all the females present seemed relieved to have a break from Fleur (or, as they preferred to call her, "Phlegm.")

As Mrs. Weasley cleared the table with a sweep of her wand, Harry sighed to himself at the thought that he would never understand women. Of course, such behavior was not restricted to one gender; Ron had been just as irrationally jealous when Viktor Krum had escorted Hermione to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts.

It was obvious to Harry that his two best friends had long harbored a mutual attraction to each other; yet, both of them were afraid to act on it. No doubt, Ron and Hermione both feared that if one confessed the truth and the other did not feel the same way, their friendship would be ruined. Yet, their mutual denial continued to increase the tension in their relationship; Harry knew that, sooner or later, something would have to give.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Weasley approached it warily, wand in hand. "Who's there?"

"It's Tonks. Could you let me in? I've got a serious situation here."

"Oh, of course, dear." Mrs. Weasley opened the door to reveal Tonks, who looked quite flustered.

Tonks gestured for Mrs. Weasley to move aside. "I've got someone here who needs medical attention; though, for the life of me, I don't know what sort. I've already sent a Patronus to Dumbledore; he'll be here as soon as he can with Madame Pomfrey."

"Dumbledore?" said Mrs. Weasley in surprise. "But why…"

Mrs. Weasley's voice trailed off as she and Harry got a look at the person Tonks was levitating through the doorway. She appeared to be a young woman wearing ordinary Muggle clothes, but the remainder of her appearance was anything but ordinary. Her hair was the color of silver; not the gray hair of an elderly woman, but actually _silver, _as if it were genuinely made of that precious metal. Yet even this seemed ordinary compared to her _ears,_ which were long, pointed, and angled slightly outward from her head.

The woman's eyes were closed and she lay still in the grip of Tonks's levitation spell. In fact, Harry thought she lay a little _too _still, as if she wasn't even breathing. But _that_ couldn't be right; Tonks wouldn't be calling for Madame Pomfrey if the woman was _dead._ Perhaps she was under the effects of the Draught of Living Death; Harry had heard about it enough times in Potions class, but had never actually seen it used. Of course, that still wouldn't explain her strange appearance, but Harry had seen enough magical mishaps to know that when spells and potions went wrong, almost anything was possible.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Ron. "What's happened to her _ears?_"

"I don't think anything's _happened _to her ears at all," said Tonks. "As far as I can tell, this is how she normally looks."

Hermione frowned. "Why on Earth would you say that? Surely, she must be under some sort of spell that alters her appearance?"

Tonks shook her head. "I'm saying that because she was _already _using a spell to alter her appearance."

She held up a red cloth cap in her left hand. "This cap somehow made her hair and ears look normal; it even disguised _itself_ as a set of Muggle headphones. And, before you ask, Ron, that's a thing Muggles wear on their ears to listen to music."

"What makes you think I was going to ask?" protested Ron. "I know what 'head-bones' are!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If you ever _asked_ questions, Ron, you might actually learn the answers."

Harry frowned. "Tonks, am I missing something here, or is she not breathing?"

"No, she's not," replied Tonks, "but, _somehow,_ she's not dead; her pulse has remained steady ever since Umbridge Stunned her."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Wait, did you say _Umbridge _Stunned her? As in _Professor_ Umbridge?"

"Oh, yes." Tonks scowled. "Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undergarment to the Minister for Magic."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. "Just what on Earth _happened?_"

"It's a long story, Molly; but, for now, it can wait. First, let's get her upstairs and into a bed."

"Oh, yes, of course; the poor dear. Ginny, you wouldn't mind if we put her in your room, would you?"

"Now, _wait_ a minute!" interrupted Hermione. "This woman isn't _breathing, _and you're just going to put her to _bed? _Shouldn't we be _doing_ something here?"

"I've already tried," said Tonks. "We Aurors are trained in emergency healing, after all. I took her back to my flat and tried to revive her for ten minutes. _Rennervate, Anapneo… _ all the usual spells did nothing."

She paused. "Now, I'm no Madame Pomfrey, but I do know this: a human who spends ten minutes without breathing is _dead._ Doesn't matter whether you're a wizard or a Muggle; without air, your brain can't survive. It's been more than _twenty _minutes since Umbridge Stunned Phoebe and her heart hasn't so much as skipped a beat."

Tonks smiled as the others gave her questioning looks. "She told me her name is Phoebe Silver-Black. Apparently, Black is her married name, but she's not related to Sirius."

Harry smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I think someone would have mentioned if Sirius had a wife with pointed ears. But what about the Draught of Living Death, or something like it? Could that be causing this?"

"The Draught creates a deathlike trance that suspends all visible signs of life," said Hermione. "I've never heard of anything that suspends your breathing, but not your pulse. I mean, what would be the point of that?"

"I agree," said Tonks, "and there's something else as well. Her friend that was with her didn't seem concerned at all. In fact, she told me the reason Phoebe wasn't breathing was because she doesn't _need_ to."

"She had a friend with her?" said Harry. "Well, where is this friend now?"

Tonks sighed. "That's _another_ long story. Look, I'll explain everything later. Molly, if you would please give me a hand with Phoebe; oh, and could someone take this backpack?"

Harry realized a brown leather backpack was strapped to Tonks's back. "Is that hers, then?"

"Yeah." Tonks shrugged her arms out of the straps and handed the pack and the red cap to him. "I thought I might find a clue inside, but after taking a look, I'm afraid I'm still clueless. I do know it's enchanted with some kind of Undetectable Extension Charm, but I didn't have time to actually examine the contents."

Mrs. Weasley gestured with her wand, causing the unconscious Phoebe to rotate so that her head pointed towards the stairs. She then went up the stairs with Phoebe floating behind her and Tonks following them both. Once the three women were no longer in sight, the four Gryffindor teens turned their attention to each other.

"Blimey," said Ron. "Who do you suppose that girl is?"

"Well, it's obvious she's not human," said Hermione, "but, apart from that, I have no idea. I've never even read about any type of being remotely like her!"

She shook her head. "I mean, breathing is fundamental for every form of animal life on Earth. Some breathe water instead of air, of course, but even magical creatures need to breathe _something!_"

"Well, what if she's not from Earth at all?" said Ron. "Maybe she's one of those aliens who come here in flying teacups."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's flying _saucers, _Ron, and they don't actually exist. They're just stories made up by Muggles who want attention. It's just like the _Quibbler._"

"Yeah, but the _Quibbler _did publish at least _one _true story that we know of," said Harry.

"That was different, Harry; your interview was about Voldemort, not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Well, you're the one who's always talking about logic, Hermione," said Ginny. "If every form of life on Earth needs to breathe, and she _doesn't,_ then, _logically…_"

"Look, even if there _were_ such things as aliens, they would _not_ look like humans with pointed ears," declared Hermione. "I don't know where this woman comes from, but she is _not _from outer space!"

"Well, instead of arguing about it, why don't we just see what's in her backpack?" asked Harry. "Tonks said she didn't have enough time to do that yet."

"We should wait until Dumbledore gets here," said Hermione firmly. "We don't know if anything in there is dangerous."

Now it was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "Right; it's not like we've spent the last five years doing anything _dangerous._"

Ginny sighed. "Enough already. Harry's right; we should just open it." She opened the backpack, then pointed her wand at it. _"Accio!"_

In an instant, a number of items flew out of the backpack and deposited themselves on the table. The largest item was a three-foot-long sword in a sheath; its hilt was adorned with a cross inside two circles made with silver and rubies. There were also four cylindrical cases, three small bags, two wands, a sheathed dagger, and what appeared to be a dull red brick. One last item, however, caught Harry's attention; his eyes widened in surprise as he turned to Hermione.

"Is that a _gun?_"

Hermione gasped. "Harry, you're right! But what would a _witch_ be doing with something like _that?_"

"Hang on," interrupted Ron. "That's one of those things Muggles use to shoot each other, isn't it?"

"Yes, but this doesn't look like a normal Muggle gun," replied Hermione. "It almost looks like a flintlock pistol from the Renaissance era, but it looks far too new to be a historical artifact."

Hermione carefully picked up the pistol, making sure to keep the barrel pointed at the floor. "And this doesn't look like a flintlock igniter, either. You see, a flintlock uses flint and steel to create a spark which ignites the gunpowder. This one doesn't have that; instead, it looks like the hammer strikes some kind of crystal. I can't imagine how that's supposed to work."

She set the pistol down, then shook her head. "Hmmm. Let me try something." She drew her wand and pointed it at the gun. _"Specialis Revelio!"_

For a few seconds, the pistol glowed with a blue light. Hermione blinked in surprise. "It's _enchanted!_ But that's highly illegal! It's a felony offence to place an enchantment on a Muggle weapon!"

"Well, if that's true," said Harry, "then what about the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Well, that's not a _Muggle _weapon, Harry; the Sword was made by goblins. But I doubt that even the best goblin smiths know how to make _guns._"

"And I doubt a _wizard_ made it, either," said Ginny, "considering that most wizards don't even know what a gun _is._ I remember Dad tried to explain it to some people at the Ministry once; they actually thought firearms were called 'fire-_legs_' instead."

Hermione frowned. "Yes, the lack of knowledge about Muggles at the Ministry is absolutely _appalling._ The Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts does her best, but there's not much she can do when no one bothers to take her class."

Ron rolled his eyes. "_Yes,_ Hermione, we _know;_ now, can we get back to all this stuff, then?"

He picked up one of the cylinders, then shook it. "Sounds like there's something inside here." After turning the cylinder over in his hand a few times, he unscrewed a cap on the end of it, then emptied the cylinder into his other hand. The item inside turned out to be a sheet of parchment that looked like it had been rolled up from both ends; inside each roll was a wooden stick.

"It's a scroll," said Hermione. "They were used by many ancient civilisations such as the Greeks and Romans before books were invented."

She took the scroll from Ron, and then unrolled it by pulling the wooden sticks apart; Harry saw that the sticks were attached to both ends of the scroll. There seemed to be some kind of writing on the parchment, though it didn't resemble anything Harry had ever seen before.

Hermione frowned in concentration as she studied the scroll intently. "This writing… it keeps changing every time I look at it. It's like some kind of optical illusion." She set the scroll down, and then cast _Specialis Revelio _again; the writing on the scroll glowed brightly, and then returned to normal.

"There's some kind of magic actually stored in the writing!" exclaimed Hermione. "And now I see why it seemed to be changing. These aren't just letters or symbols; they're actually three-dimensional patterns of some kind. They're incredibly complex, though; it's like I just can't wrap my mind around them."

"So the other cylinders probably have scrolls in them, too," said Harry. "The question is, what are they _for?_"

Hermione sighed. "Well, I'm afraid that's not a question I have the answer to."

Just then, Mrs. Weasley and Tonks came down the stairs. Mrs. Weasley was carrying a bundle of clothes which she placed on the table; Tonks was carrying a small leather pouch.

"I lent her my old nightgown," said Mrs. Weasley, "though I'm afraid it doesn't really fit her. I brought her clothes down so Dumbledore could take a look at them as well. They seem to be ordinary Muggle clothes, except for her jewellery and her _belt,_ of all things."

"She had this pouch attached to her belt as well," said Tonks. "It has what looks like an assortment of potion ingredients inside, though I don't know what you could do with such a small amount of them. In her pockets, she had two hundred pounds in cash, five pounds and forty-two pence in change, and a room key from the Leaky Cauldron."

As Tonks set the items down, she cast a curious glance at the rest of the items on the table. "Well, I can see you've got everything unpacked, though I can guess from your expressions that you still haven't found any clues."

"Tonks, you've got to take a look at this," said Hermione. "We found a _gun _in Phoebe's backpack; a gun that's been illegally enchanted."

Tonks looked carefully at the item Hermione was pointing out. "That's a _gun?_ It doesn't look like any of the guns I learned about in Auror training."

"They probably taught you about modern guns," said Hermione. "This one looks more like a single-shot pistol from the Renaissance, but it's still not quite the same."

"An enchanted _gun?_" said Mrs. Weasley. "Good Lord! And a _sword_ as well! Why on _Earth_ would she need all these weapons?"

Tonks frowned. "I don't know, but I know that Phoebe and her friend Celeste are definitely not strangers to combat. Phoebe told me she keeps a _logbook_ of the fights she's been in; in fact, she had so many entries, she had to start a _new_ one."

"Who keeps a logbook of _fights?_" said Ron. "That's _mental!_"

"Maybe not," said Tonks thoughtfully. "Every time an Auror gets into a fight with a suspect, we need to file a report with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Phoebe seemed very interested in my lawful authority as an Auror; I think she's with some kind of law enforcement herself."

"OK, I think we need the whole story here," said Ginny. "It's obvious Phoebe was in some kind of a fight; so, who exactly was she fighting and why?"

The four teenagers and Mrs. Weasley listened as Tonks explained what had happened at the Leaky Cauldron. Once she was finished, the five of them stared at her in astonishment.

"I can't believe it," said Mrs. Weasley softly. "After all these years… Fenrir Greyback has finally been caught!"

Tonks smiled. "Yeah, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. Oh, I can't _wait_ to tell Remus!"

"Are you saying it was this Greyback who turned Professor Lupin into a werewolf?" asked Harry.

Tonks nodded. "Yes; and, believe me, that is only the _beginning_ of his crimes. Every prejudicial stereotype about werewolves being horrible monsters… Greyback is the embodiment of all of them and _more._ There are reports that he doesn't even wait for the full moon to bite people — that he actually craves the taste of human flesh."

Tonks shuddered. "The problem is, I don't know what we're going to _do _with him. We could send him to Azkaban… for about ten minutes before the other Death Eaters break him out. Oh, sure, he'll be punished for letting himself get caught, but You-Know-Who still needs him as an instrument of terror. We could sentence him to the Dementor's Kiss… that is, if the Ministry still had any dementors."

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we should just AK him and be done with it."

"Tonks, you can't do _that!_" protested Hermione. "You're an Auror!"

"I know, Hermione, I know; the law's the law." Tonks sighed. "But what good is the law if we can't punish anyone for breaking it?"

"Yeah, about that," said Harry. "What do you think's going to happen to Umbridge? I don't think we need to worry about the Death Eaters breaking _her_ out; if they did, they'd probably beg us to take her back."

Tonks chuckled. "Yeah, well… you'd think that an unprovoked attack in front of multiple witnesses would be enough to put that vile hag away, but, come on; we both know the Ministry will find _some_ excuse to keep her out of trouble. Besides, we can't exactly bring Phoebe in to testify; they'd send her down to the Department of Mysteries to be dissected!"

She threw up her hands in frustration. "And we don't even _know_ where Celeste is now. _Damn_ it! It's times like these that I _really _hate this job."

"Do you think she even survived?" asked Ron. "I mean, if Umbridge got Splinched…"

"I don't think that's what happened to Celeste," said Hermione. "Everything I've read about Apparition says that if a person gets Splinched, they leave a piece of themselves behind. Now, Tonks, you're sure there was nothing left behind at all?"

"I'm sure," said Tonks. "Celeste disappeared completely."

"Well, then, it seems likely that she arrived at her destination intact," said Hermione. "Doesn't the Ministry have a way to track Apparition?"

Tonks nodded. "Yes, I asked Tom to tell my partner to look into that. I should probably check back with him to see what he's found."

As Tonks turned toward the fireplace, there was another knock at the door. As before, Mrs. Weasley was the first to approach it. "Is that you, Albus?"

"Yes, my dear Molly, it is I, Albus Dumbledore, arriving with Madame Poppy Pomfrey at the request of Miss Nymphadora Tonks."

Mrs. Weasley opened the door and sighed with relief. "Oh, thank God! I don't know how much Tonks has told you, but I do hope you can make some sense of all this. And, Poppy, it's always wonderful to see you. I only wish we had time to chat under less urgent circumstances."

Dumbledore smiled. "I do apologise for the tardiness of my arrival, but I thought I might pay Tom a visit at the Leaky Cauldron first. I persuaded him to allow me to view his memories by means of Legilimency before he managed to blur them with a generous portion of firewhisky. What I saw in his mind was quite curious indeed, and I believe I have some ideas on what it might mean."

He glanced at the items on the kitchen table. "Ah, I see you've already begun examining Ms. Black's possessions. I believe it would be best if I continued with this task, while Poppy takes a look at the young lady herself."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Of course, Albus."

Mrs. Weasley gestured towards the staircase. "I put her in Ginny's room; it's just up the stairs. Here, let me show you."

As the two women went up the staircase, Harry turned to Dumbledore. "If you saw Tom's memories, Professor, then does that mean you know everything that happened at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"I would have preferred a more detailed examination of his memories in my Pensieve, Harry, but, unfortunately, there simply wasn't time. I did, however, see Tom's perspective on the actual fight, to which Nymphadora did not personally bear witness."

"Professor," said Hermione, "why do you think Phoebe has all these _weapons? _Do you think she _expected_ a fight at the Leaky Cauldron?"

Dumbledore peered down at the table. "It may interest you to know that, according to Tom, the sword actually belongs to the other young lady, Ms. Celeste Aspen. However, it would seem that none of these weapons were actually used in the fight. Ms. Aspen fought unarmed and only used her sword for intimidation, while Ms. Black fought solely by means of her magic."

"I don't get it," said Ron. "Why would Celeste need to fight Greyback with her hands? Why didn't she just Stun him?"

"She _did_ use her magic to restrain the Death Eaters in some fashion, though the effect only lasted long enough for her to get into an advantageous position. Ms. Black also used a similar spell on Mr. Greyback, which gave Ms. Aspen time to secure him with physical restraints."

"Well, she certainly did a good job of _that,_" said Tonks, "which makes me think she's had quite a bit of practice. In fact, I think both Phoebe and Celeste are with some kind of law enforcement."

"I believe you are correct," replied Dumbledore. "Ms. Aspen told Mr. Greyback that he was under arrest by order of the 'Harmonium.' I'm not familiar with a police force by that name, magical or otherwise, though I believe it is also the name of a musical instrument. What interests me, however, is the number of things with which Ms. Black appears not to be familiar, such as Aurors, Sickles, Galleons, and Death Eaters."

"She's never heard of _Death Eaters?_" said Harry in surprise. "How could _any_ witch or wizard in the _world_ not know about _them?_"

Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought. "How indeed. Perhaps an examination of these items might prove more enlightening."

"Phoebe's clothes are completely ordinary except for her jewellery and belt," said Tonks. "And, of course, there's the cap she used to disguise herself."

"Ah, yes; the cap." Dumbledore picked it up and turned it around in his hand. "Hmmm. Red would tend to clash with my current attire, but if my theory is correct, I don't believe that will be a problem."

He removed his own hat, and then placed the cap on his head. Hermione reached out to stop him. "No, Professor, don't — "

Suddenly, Dumbledore vanished; in his place stood an exact replica of Hermione. Harry's mouth dropped open in amazement as he looked back and forth between the two of them; a wide-eyed Hermione stared back at her mirror image.

"P-Professor?" stammered Hermione. "Is… is that you?"

"Why, of course, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore's voice from the duplicate Hermione's mouth. "She" pointed at "her" head. "I willed the cap to assume the form of a hair clip; I do hope it suits you, my dear."

Hermione blinked in surprise, and then frowned. "Wait… wait a minute, Professor; I can see you now. I can still see myself at the same time; it's as if my image has been superimposed on you somehow."

"Blimey, I see him too," said Ron. "What kind of a disguise lets you see right through it?"

Dumbledore/Hermione smiled. "Ah, but could any of you see me before you heard my voice?"

Everyone shook their heads.

Hermione snapped her fingers. "Of course! We couldn't see through the disguise until we _knew_ it was a disguise!"

Dumbledore reached up and removed the cap, returning to his normal appearance. "Yes, that would seem to be the way the cap functions. I saw my own image surrounded by Miss Granger's right away, so I suspected that its magic only works on the unsuspecting, as it were."

"Well, that doesn't seem very useful," said Ron. "Why didn't she just use Polyjuice Potion?"

"That only works on humans, Ron," said Hermione.

"Not to mention you have to keep drinking it." Tonks picked up the cap. "Now, granted, this has its limitations, but it would definitely be useful if you could duck into a pub while being chased. As a Metamorphmagus, I can always change my face, but this cap allows you to change the appearance of your clothes as well."

"Professor, this is all very interesting," said Harry, "but if you have to _suspect_ how the cap's magic works, does that mean you've never seen anything like it before?"

"Indeed, Harry, I have not," replied Dumbledore.

"But… but, Professor," said Hermione, "how can that be? You're the most knowledgeable wizard in the world!"

"I thank you for that high praise, Miss Granger, though I have no doubt you will one day surpass me in knowledge. We must not forget, however, that, no matter how learned, a human being can never know _everything._"

Dumbledore smiled. "Personally, I've never seen this as a limitation, but simply as the fact that there will always be more to learn. As the headmaster of a school, I find this rather comforting, for it ensures that those in my profession will always be needed."

"Well, doesn't that prove it?" said Ron. "It's just like Ginny said. If Dumbledore knows all the magic in the world, and he doesn't know this, then it has to be from some _other_ world, right?"

Hermione sighed. "Ron, he just said he _doesn't _know all the magic in the world. Honestly, would it kill you to _listen_ for once?"

"Well, _you're_ the one who said every form of life on Earth needs to breathe!" said Ron. He pointed at Harry. "And… and Harry said that every witch and wizard in the world has heard of Death Eaters!"

He turned to Dumbledore. "I mean, if it was just _one _thing; but, Professor, doesn't it all add up? Isn't it at least _possible _that Phoebe isn't from this world?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Indeed. What a splendid idea, Mr. Weasley!"

Hermione's face turned red. "_Professor! _You can't possibly be _serious!_"

"Well, I don't know if I _am_ serious or not, Miss Granger," replied Dumbledore, "but I believe that the concept is most definitely _possible._"

Harry chuckled. "_Touché, _Hermione."

Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. "All right, all right. I suppose anything's _possible. _But extraordinary claims like that require extraordinary evidence, and, right now, I don't think the evidence we have is enough to meet that standard!"

Dumbledore nodded. "Quite right, Miss Granger. The evidence is intriguing, but it does not yet constitute proof. Fortunately, I believe Madame Pomfrey is just about to return with a report on her patient."

As if on cue, Madame Pomfrey and Mrs. Weasley emerged from the staircase. Ron shook his head. "Blimey, Professor! How do you _do_ that?"

"Ah, well; a good magician never reveals his tricks."

Hermione smiled. "You used a nonverbal _Hominem Revelio _spell to sense that they were coming down the stairs, didn't you?"

Dumbledore returned her smile. "Alas! Even the best magician may be thwarted by a particularly observant member of the audience."

He turned to Madame Pomfrey. "Poppy, what has your examination revealed about our guest?"

She shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know _what_ to make of her, Albus. No breath; but, I swear, her heart keeps better time than my watch. I performed my usual diagnostic spells, but the results are completely inconsistent. One spell says she's in perfect health, another says she's dead, and a third says she's some kind of inanimate object!"

Madame Pomfrey paused. "I mean, it's obvious she's not human, but I've performed healing on all sorts of creatures in my time. House-elves, goblins, centaurs… I've even helped Hagrid with the unicorns and thestrals! In all my years as a Healer, I've never even _heard_ of results like these, and I'm afraid I'm utterly at a loss to explain them."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I believe I _have,_ in fact, once heard of similar results before. In the 17th Century, my old friend Nicholas Flamel was involved in experiments to create a form of artificial life known as a homunculus."

Hermione snapped her fingers. "I've _read_ about that, Professor! But the books I read said those experiments didn't work."

"Well, not _entirely,_ Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "Nicholas and his team were able to create a homunculus, but it was merely a mindless automaton with no intelligence or will of its own. It could be ordered to perform simple tasks, and it could respond to stimuli, but it fell far short of their goal to actually create _life._ Eventually, the lack of any further successes persuaded Nicholas to abandon the experiments; and, since then, they have remained a mere historical curiosity."

He paused. "The reason I mention this is because in Nicholas's notes, he indicated that normal healing spells had no effect on a homunculus. In addition, other spells which normally affect living things yielded inconsistent results."

"But, wait; Phoebe's not a mindless automaton," said Tonks. "I had a _conversation_ with her, for heaven's sake!"

"Despite the fact that Nicholas was unable to perfect his experiments," said Dumbledore, "it is not beyond the realm of possibility that someone else _has,_ particularly if that realm extends beyond the confines of this planet."

"_Ha!_" exclaimed Ron. "What did I tell you, Hermione?"

"All right, then," said Hermione. "Assuming for the sake of argument that Phoebe really is some sort of… extraterrestrial super-homunculus, or something… then how, exactly, does that help us wake her up?"

"Ah, well," said Dumbledore, "that part should actually be quite simple. As I mentioned, Nicholas indicated that a homunculus could not be _healed; _however, it could be magically _repaired._"

Hermione shook her head. "Let me get this straight, Professor. Are you saying that if this theory is true, all we need to do is go upstairs and cast _Reparo?_"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Precisely! In fact, I think you should be the one to do the honours, Miss Granger."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "W-What? But, Professor… why _me?_"

"Well, if it works, I think it's only fair for you to be the one who provides us with the crowning piece of evidence. Not to mention that Ms. Black has already expressed a desire to meet you."

Tonks smiled at Hermione's confused expression. "I mentioned your name when I remarked to Phoebe that her personality reminded me of yours. Remember when I said she keeps a logbook of fights? I asked her what happened in the fight with the Death Eaters and she rattled off what sounded like her next logbook entry on the spot! And, _then,_ as I'm standing there looking like I'd just been Confunded, she asks me if I want her to _repeat_ it. I mean, heck, I was afraid to say 'yes,' because I just _knew _she'd have given me the whole thing again verbatim."

She chuckled. "Wow. Now I know what it feels like to be Ron."

"_Hey!"_

Ron and Hermione blushed as they realized they'd both shouted at the same time. They looked at each other, and then broke out into laughter, which quickly spread to everyone else in the room.

As the laughter died down, Hermione covered her face in embarrassment. "Oh my God. Ron, am I really that bad?"

Ron smiled. "I may not be the smartest person in the room, Hermione, but there's no way I'm stupid enough to answer _that._"

At that, the room broke out into laughter again. Hermione even had to close her eyes in a vain attempt to block the tears from laughing so hard. As the room began to calm down, Hermione wiped her eyes, and then drew her wand.

"That's _it._ I've _got_ to wake her up now just to get her back for embarrassing me like that."

"Well, don't be _too_ hard on her, Hermione," said a smiling Harry. "Remember, we need her on our side to get back at _Umbridge._"

"Yeah, right, mate," laughed Ron. "As if that old hag doesn't have enough enemies on _this_ planet."

Hermione held up her hands. "All right; enough with all this talk about other planets. Let's just go upstairs, wake Phoebe up, and find out the truth."

"Well, we shouldn't all go up at once," said Ginny. "My bedroom's not that big, you know; we don't want to be packed in there like sardines."

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, in that case, I think that Poppy and I should stay here for now." He held up his hand as Madame Pomfrey opened her mouth to protest. "I'm sorry, Poppy, but I'm afraid that you won't be able to assist in this particular case."

She sighed. "I know. I just hope she can tell me what sorts of spells _can_ heal her so I can be a bit more helpful next time."

"I'd better go with you, Hermione," said Tonks, "since I'm the only one Phoebe will recognize."

"And I suppose the rest of you are going with her," said Mrs. Weasley. She sighed. "Well, in that case, I'd better make myself useful and put the kettle on. I think we could all use a spot of tea about now."

"All right, then," said Harry. He smiled. "Let's go see who all the fuss is about."

* * *

_At the premiere of __**Order of the Phoenix:**_

**Radio ****Announcer 1: **It's a lovely 27 degrees Celsius outside today. That's just _over _80 degrees Fahrenheit as they would say across the pond, and for the physicists, it's precisely 300 kelvins.

**Radio ****Announcer 2: **Quite so, Nigel. According to Wien's displacement law, such a temperature would correspond to a peak blackbody radiation wavelength of 9.7 micrometres.

**Announcer 1: **In the mid-infrared region of the electromagnetic spectrum?

**Announcer 2: **Of course. Now, if you were to heat a sugar solution to the temperature of "hard crack" on a candy thermometer, it would emit a peak wavelength of 6.9 micrometres.

**Announcer 1: **Ah! 150 degrees Celsius, then.

**Announcer 2: **Which is the same as 302 degrees Fahrenheit, 423 kelvins, or 762 degrees Rankine.

**Announcer 1: **And, according to the Stefan-Boltzmann law, a sphere at "hard crack" temperature would emit approximately four times as much electromagnetic radiation as an identical sphere at the current temperature.

**Announcer 2: **Why does it have to be a sphere?

**Announcer 1: **In physics, _everything _is a sphere.


	4. Chapter 3: The Plane Truth

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY**  
**A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover**

**This story and all original materials are © 2011 Rick Summon.****  
**_**Harry Potter**_** and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.****  
**_**Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, **_**and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.****  
**_**Pathfinder **_**and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.**

* * *

**Radio Announcer 1: **This is BBC Radio in London, bringing you the latest in news, sports, and weather. And, speaking of weather, perhaps you could tell us what the _temperature_ will be today.

**Radio Announcer 2: **Well, Nigel, we're looking at a high of 32 degrees Celsius. And, of course, as our listeners know, that's 90 degrees Fahrenheit, 305 kelvins, and 549 degrees Rankine.

**Announcer 1:** Hang on; we've got a call on Line 1. Hello, you're on the air with BBC Radio.

**Caller: **Yeah, I want to know how come Kelvin isn't capitalised.

**Announcer 1:** I'm sorry?

**Caller: **Look, mate, I might've failed my O-Level in English, but I know you're supposed to capitalise proper names. Celsius, Fahrenheit, and Rankine; all those _foreign_ blokes' names are capitalised, aren't they? But _Lord_ Kelvin's name is _not,_ and, by God, I want to know _why!_

**Announcer 1: **Sir, this is _radio. _How could you _possibly_ know whether or not a word is capitalised just by _hearing_ it?

**Caller: **Oi, don't try and change the subject, you toffee-nosed git!

**Announcer 2: **Now, calm down, sir; we meant no disrespect to his Lordship. You see, in the metric system, there are many units named after famous scientists; for instance, the watt, the ampere, the tesla… and, of course, the kelvin. Now, you'll notice that none of them are capitalised; this is because all metric units are written in lower case, whether they originate from proper names or not.

**Caller: **Well, how come Celsius is capitalised, then, eh? Fahrenheit's not metric, but _Celsius_ bleedin' well is!

**Announcer 2: **Ah, but, you see, "Celsius" is not a unit. The actual unit in "degrees Celsius" is _degree;_ "Celsius" merely acts as a descriptive adjective. If there _were_ such things as "degrees Kelvin," then Kelvin _would_ be capitalised; however, "kelvin" is a metric unit on its own and is, thus, in lower case.

**Caller: **Oh. Right. Sorry about all the fuss, then.

**Announcer 2: **Not at all, sir. Glad to have straightened that out for you. Oh, and, by the way, Rankine was _not_ foreign; he was Scottish. Now, where was I? Oh, yes! The current temperature in London is —

**Announcer 1: **Rankine was Scottish? I didn't know that!

**Announcer 2: **Yes, William Rankine was a Scottish engineer.

**Announcer 1: **_Och,__ cap'n, the warp drive's up to 2__000 of my degrees! I dinna ken__ how much more the ship can take!_

**Announcer 2: **Right, that's it. We're going off the air now. I refuse to discuss _real _science with someone who makes puerile references to **Star Trek!**

* * *

_There are worlds b__eyond the world that you know.__  
__Other universes, dimensi__ons — the Planes of Existence.__  
__From the Sevenfold Hea__vens to the Nine Pits of Hell;__  
F__rom the Endless Water__s to the Silvery Void;__  
F__rom the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits o__f reality itself — and __**beyond.**__  
__At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control... the _**Planescape.**

* * *

**Chapter 3:**** The Plane Truth**

"_Well, you see, Celeste and I have a lot of __**very**__ important information to discuss with you," said Phoebe. "And I really think it would be a good idea for us to do so in private."_

_She gestured at the staircase. "We can go up to our room and talk there. I have a scroll I can use to ward it against eavesdropping."_

_Tonks shrugged. "Well, all right." She winked. "As long as you don't __**murder**__ me."_

_Phoebe laughed. "I couldn't do __**that.**__ Why, I'd lose my job!"_

As Phoebe, Celeste, and Tonks walked toward the staircase, Phoebe suddenly felt her magic warning her of an impending attack. She turned around to see Umbridge and her henchman pointing their wands in her direction. Quickly, she performed the arcane gestures that would blast the two of them with rays of fire, but before she could utter the final word of activation, a red beam from Umbridge's wand struck her and everything went black.

The next thing Phoebe knew, she found herself sitting up in an unfamiliar bed. Her magical items had been removed and her clothes had been replaced with an oversized white nightgown. In front of her stood Auror Tonks and a brown-haired adolescent girl. The girl was pointing a wand at her, though Phoebe didn't sense any immediate danger as she had with Umbridge. To her left, Phoebe saw an adolescent girl with long red hair; to her right, there were two adolescent boys. One of them had red hair like the girl, while the other wore spectacles and had black hair. The four of them regarded Phoebe with expressions of wariness and uncertainty; Auror Tonks, on the other hand, looked quite happy to see her.

"Phoebe!" exclaimed Tonks. "Oh, thank God! Are you all right?"

"I believe so," replied Phoebe. "I don't sense any injuries."

Tonks breathed a sigh of relief. "You really had us worried there. When I saw that you weren't breathing, I thought Umbridge had killed you!"

Phoebe smiled. "Yeah, I know what you mean; my husband panicked the first time that happened."

"The _first _time?" exclaimed the red-haired boy. "How often does this sort of thing happen to you, anyway?"

"Not often," replied Phoebe. "You see, my magic warns me if I'm about to be attacked, so I can usually react quickly enough to strike first. This time, however, I'm afraid my reaction was about a tenth of a second too slow."

She sighed. "I suppose it's my fault for underestimating the situation. I knew Umbridge was the sort to make trouble, but I didn't think she would actually attack me right in front of a law enforcement officer!"

"I wouldn't have thought so, either," said Tonks, "but, well…" She glanced at the dark-haired boy. "Let's just say she's been under a _lot_ of stress lately."

"And, therefore, she wanted to take it out on someone," said Phoebe. "I do know the feeling." She frowned. "Should Umbridge come within spellcasting range of me again, I shall convey my _feelings_ to her forthwith."

The dark-haired boy smiled. "Now _that's_ the kind of talk we like to hear. Any enemy of Umbridge is a friend of ours."

"Well, then; you must have a lot of friends!"

The wariness vanished from the youngsters' faces as they laughed at Phoebe's comment. She smiled at them in return, then suddenly frowned.

"Wait. Speaking of friends, my tracking spell indicates that my friend Celeste is approximately 150 miles away. Why isn't she here? Auror Tonks, has something gone wrong?"

Tonks's eyes widened in surprise. "You mean you know where she is?"

"I know her approximate distance and direction, and I could get a more precise reading if I were closer. But what happened to her? Was she captured by Death Eater reinforcements?"

Tonks shook her head. "If only it were that simple. No, I'm afraid it was Umbridge… _again__._"

She took a deep breath. "After Umbridge Stunned you, Celeste grabbed hold of her just as she did with Greyback. I Stunned Umbridge's henchman and was about to do the same to her. Then, in a truly spectacular display of foolishness, Umbridge tried to Disapparate out of Celeste's grip."

"I'm sorry," said Phoebe, "but I'm not familiar with your terminology. What exactly do you mean by 'Disapparate'?"

"That means Umbridge tried to use her magic to disappear from the Leaky Cauldron and reappear somewhere else," said the brown-haired girl.

Phoebe nodded. "Ah. I'd refer to that as 'teleportation,' but, please, continue."

"Well, it didn't exactly go as planned," said Tonks, "because _Celeste _was the one who Disapparated instead. We're pretty sure that she managed to reappear intact, but, right now, we have no idea where she actually _went._"

"Well, I can help you with _that_ part, at least," said Phoebe. "I put a tracking spell on the holy symbol Celeste wears around her neck; I figured that would be the best way to find her if we ever got separated. If you have a map and a compass available, I can tell you where we ought to start looking."

The red-haired girl frowned. "A map of Britain? I don't think we have one here, do we, Ron?"

"Nah, I'm pretty sure we don't," said the red-haired boy, Ron.

"I can tell you where we are, if that helps," said the brown-haired girl. "We're right next to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole in the county of Devon. It's about — " She paused. "Wait a minute. _London's_ about 150 miles from here, isn't it? Tonks, do you think Celeste could still be in London?"

"Well, I doubt Umbridge was trying to Apparate outside the city, so Celeste couldn't be _too_ far away from her intended destination. Phoebe, you said you know which direction Celeste is in?"

"It would help if I knew which direction was north," said Phoebe.

"I can do that," said the dark-haired boy. He drew his wand, then laid it in the palm of his hand. _"Point Me!" _The wand spun around, then pointed in a fixed direction.

"Fascinating!" said Phoebe. "Well, if your spell is accurate, young man, then Celeste is east-northeast of our current position."

The brown-haired girl snapped her fingers. "Then she _is_ in London, or, at least, nearby. So, what should we do?"

"I should check in with my partner back at the Ministry," said Tonks. "He should have been able to track Celeste's destination by now."

"Auror Tonks," said Phoebe, "if I may ask, why did you bring me here instead of to your Ministry?"

Tonks smiled. "You know, you really don't have to keep calling me 'Auror.' Just call me Tonks. We are friends now, aren't we?"

Phoebe returned her smile. "Well, of course we are, Tonks. But you haven't introduced me to your _other_ friends yet."

"Yes, of course; you're right. Where are my manners?" She gestured at each of the young people in turn. "This is Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger. They're students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I brought you here to meet a very important friend of mine: Professor Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts."

Phoebe's eyes lit up with excitement. "A magical _school?_ This could not be more perfect!" She leapt out of bed and stumbled as she nearly tripped over the hem of her nightgown. "Oh, I have _so_ many questions to ask him!"

"Now, hold your hippogriffs," said Tonks, as she reached out to steady her friend. "We _do_ have a few questions of our own to ask you as well."

"Oh, of course; and I'll be more than happy to answer them. But, first, we need to locate Celeste."

"Well, _first, _I think you need to put some clothes on! It'd be a bit drafty trying to rescue your friend in that!" Tonks turned to the doorway and waved her wand. _"__Accio clothes!"_

Phoebe watched as her clothes flew into the room and deposited themselves neatly at the foot of the bed. "So, this spell causes objects to physically move to your location?"

"Exactly," said Tonks. "It's called a Summoning Charm."

"Interesting. And what is the maximum range from which an object can be Summoned?"

Tonks blinked in surprise. "Well, I… I've never thought of it before."

Hermione's brow was furrowed in concentration. "Hmmm… a more powerful witch or wizard can Summon a heavier object, so it stands to reason that they could do so from a greater distance. As a practical matter, I've never heard of anyone Summoning an object from more than about one or two miles away. Theoretically, the maximum range could be calculated using Merlin's Third Law of Motion, but that would only give you the distance in a straight line. If the object had to turn corners to reach you, the result would be much more complicated."

Phoebe smiled. "It seems Tonks did not exaggerate your academic prowess. I look forward to continuing our discussion at a later time, but, for now, I'm sure your headmaster does not wish to be kept waiting."

Tonks clapped her hands. "Right. Let's go and let Phoebe get dressed now."

The adolescents and Tonks filed out of the room; as Tonks stepped through the doorway, she turned back to Phoebe.

"We'll be waiting for you downstairs in the kitchen, all right?"

"Sure; I'll be down in about three minutes."

After Tonks closed the door, Phoebe slipped off the nightgown and quickly pulled on her clothes. She then straightened the covers on the bed, carefully folded the nightgown, left the bedroom, and went down the stairs.

Phoebe found herself in what appeared to be a small kitchen and dining area. The four youngsters were seated at a wooden table in the center of the room onto which the contents of Phoebe's backpack had been emptied. There were also two middle-aged women in the room, one with red hair and one whose hair was half grey and half brown. The last person was an elderly man with white hair and a long white beard. He wore a purple robe and his eyes seemed to twinkle behind a pair of spectacles. As Phoebe stepped into the room, he turned and gave her a friendly smile.

"Ah! It seems that our guest has awakened. I trust you are no worse for wear from your unfortunate encounter with Miss Umbridge?"

"Yes, I'm fine, though I get the distinct impression the same cannot be said of Miss Umbridge."

"Indeed," replied Dumbledore. "I'm afraid her attempt at Apparition ended up rather badly. Fortunately, she has managed to survive the experience, so I am quite optimistic about your friend as well. In fact, Miss Tonks has just returned to the Ministry to obtain information on your friend's current whereabouts."

"I am grateful for your assistance, sir," said Phoebe. "But, if I may be so bold, would I be correct in assuming that you are Professor Albus Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore smiled and nodded. "It's the beard, isn't it?"

Phoebe chuckled. "Well, a long white beard does tend to be the preferred fashion of male spellcasters who possess great knowledge and power."

"You flatter me, my dear." Dumbledore gestured toward the women. "May I present Mrs. Molly Weasley, the mistress of this house; and Madame Poppy Pomfrey, our resident healer at Hogwarts."

"Now who's the flatterer, Albus?" said Mrs. Weasley. "'Mistress,' indeed. Makes me sound like I'm the noble lady of a manor."

"A lady's home is her castle, is it not?" replied Dumbledore. "Especially in troubled times such as these."

Mrs. Weasley made a dismissive gesture. "Now, really. I'm just a humble wife and mother who does the best she can with what she has." She smiled. "And, right now, I have a kettle hot and ready, so may I offer you a cup of tea?"

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Weasley," said Phoebe.

"Please, dear, call me Molly. Would you like any milk or sugar?"

"A bit of each, thanks."

As Phoebe accepted the cup from Mrs. Weasley and took a sip, Dumbledore watched her curiously. "I apologise for this personal question, my dear, but from what we've been able to determine, you appear to be some type of artificially constructed being. Is this correct?"

"Yes, Professor," replied Phoebe. "I'm actually the prototype for what has been planned to be an entirely new race of constructs. Unfortunately, there isn't an official name for 'my kind,' since no others have yet been constructed. So, whenever I have to fill out a form that asks what race I am, I just put down 'constructed elf.' That just means I'm a construct built to resemble an elf in both appearance and ability."

"An _elf?_" said Harry. "Pardon me for saying so, but you don't look like any elf _I've_ ever seen."

"I see. And what would you say an elf looks like?"

"Well…" Harry paused, then held his hand at waist level. "They're about this tall… they have big heads with large eyes…"

"Hang on, Harry," said Ron. "You don't need to _describe_ a house-elf; you've got Kreacher, remember? You could just call him here and — "

"_No,_ Ron!" interrupted Hermione. "You cannot just order Kreacher around whenever you want!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Hermione; not this again!"

"Under normal circumstances," said Dumbledore, "your suggestion would be most practical, Mr. Weasley. However, I'm afraid it would be most unwise to allow Kreacher to have any information about our guest. In any case, it is information that we are in need of at the moment, so we should allow Ms. Black to continue providing it."

"Well, _I'd_ certainly like some information," said Madam Pomfrey. "How is it even possible to _construct_ a _person?_ I can't even imagine where you'd _start!_"

"You start with the design, of course!" Phoebe smiled. "Of course, that part took my parents forty-two years to complete, so it's not _exactly_ a simple task."

"Forty-two _years!_ Unbelievable!" Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "I don't suppose you'd be able to tell me anything about how you work?"

"Well, most of the information about my internal workings is restricted. I could explain the basic principles that were used in my construction, but even that would take a long time." Phoebe shrugged. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to sound unhelpful. It's just that if I start explaining a complicated topic like that, I find it very hard to _stop._"

Dumbledore laughed. "Ah, yes; an all too common affliction among professors."

He stroked his beard as he appeared to contemplate the situation. "It is obvious that whatever arts were used to create you are beyond the knowledge of anyone at Hogwarts." His eyes twinkled. "Indeed, I can scarcely imagine who on _Earth_ would have the knowledge to perform such an incredible task."

Just then, the fireplace flared with a burst of green light from which two figures emerged. One of them was Auror Tonks; the other, to Phoebe's surprise, was —

"Celeste!" Phoebe ran to her friend and gave her a quick hug. "Thank the Powers you're all right!"

"'Course I am," said Celeste with a smile. "There's no way I'd let some bureaucratic hag put me in the dead-book!"

Phoebe laughed, then turned to Tonks. "Thank you so much for finding her. But, how in all the Heavens did you manage to do it so quickly?"

"Well, as soon I got to the Ministry, my partner pulled me aside," said Tonks. "He got a message from Tom no more than two minutes ago that said Celeste had just returned to the Leaky Cauldron! So, then, all I had to do was go over there and get her — well, that and cast a quick spell to dry her off."

Phoebe frowned in confusion for a moment, then smiled. "Aha! You must have reappeared above the River Thames."

"You guessed it," replied Celeste. "One moment, I had Umbridge firmly in my grasp; the next moment, I found myself a hundred feet above the river."

She turned to Tonks, then tapped a ring on her left hand. "Fortunately, I have this, which slows me down in the event of a fall. It keeps me from getting hurt, but, unfortunately, it _doesn't_ keep me from getting _wet._ Anyway, when I climbed out of the river, there was a small crowd of people there who must have seen me fall in."

"They _saw_ you?" exclaimed Hermione. "Oh, no; what are we going to _do?_ This is a major breach of the Statute of Secrecy!"

"Relax, Hermione," said Tonks. "Williams had already tracked Celeste's destination to the river near Tower Bridge. The crowd didn't see her appear out of nowhere; or, if they did, they didn't believe their eyes. When he questioned them, they all thought she had somehow managed to jump off the bridge instead."

"And, of course, there was a police officer there who thought the same thing," said Celeste. "He says, 'Miss, are you all right? You took a pretty big fall there. Maybe you should come with me to get checked out.'"

She shrugged. "I wasn't going to argue with him; I mean, _I_ wouldn't listen to some addle-cove who just jumped off a bridge. Besides, I didn't have time to waste; I had to get back to Phoebe. So, at that point, I just ran away; I knew my 'offense' wasn't important enough for that policeman to make a serious effort at chasing me."

Celeste turned to Phoebe. "And James had better _not _find out about this. That man would _never _let me live it down."

"Oh, _I_ won't tell him a thing," said Phoebe, smiling. "But you know he'll still manage to find out anyway."

Celeste sighed. "Yeah, I know. Anyway, after I lost the policeman, I made my way back to the Leaky Cauldron, but, when I got there, the door was locked. I tried knocking, and, when no one answered, I decided to knock the Harmonium way and broke down the door."

She smiled. "Well, _that_ got Tom's attention, all right. He told me Tonks had Phoebe, but he didn't know where they went. So, he used that fireplace thing to contact Tonks's partner, and… here I am."

"Did you contact Wendy?" asked Phoebe.

"Oh, right," replied Celeste. "I spoke to her on the telephone just after I lost the policeman; I told her to toss your letter through the portal."

She turned to Tonks. "Wendy's the solicitor I was telling you about before we were so rudely interrupted. Which reminds me." Celeste turned back to Phoebe. "Have you explained the dark about us to this lot yet?"

"Not yet; I just finished telling them that I'm a construct."

"So you really are some type of advanced homunculus?" asked Tonks.

Phoebe laughed. "Oh, please; I'm a lot more advanced than _that!_ As I told the others, I am the first of a new type of construct designed to duplicate an elf in form and function, though, apparently, not the type of elf that you would know. The reason for this, as Professor Dumbledore has apparently surmised, is that I was not, in fact, constructed on this world."

"I _knew_ it!" exclaimed Ron. "You hear that, Hermione? She _is_ from another planet!"

Phoebe shook her head. "Not _exactly,_ Mr. Weasley. Celeste and I are from a place called Sigil, also known as the City of Doors. It is called that because every doorway in the city can also serve as a magical portal to another plane of existence."

"A _what_ now?" said Ron in confusion. "I thought a 'plane' was some kind of Muggle flying machine."

"A plane of _existence_," repeated Phoebe. "Sometimes referred to as another universe or dimension."

"Hang on, now," said Harry, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Are you saying that you're actually from another _dimension?_"

"Yes, but it should really be referred to as a 'plane of existence' or simply a 'plane.' The term 'dimension' is generally considered improper."

"Truly, this day seems to have no end of surprises," said Dumbledore. "The existence of other dimensions — or, should I say, _planes_ — has long been theorised by the Department of Mysteries. Unfortunately, experimental evidence has been rather hard to come by."

"That's not surprising," said Phoebe. "According to our preliminary research, this world appears to be isolated from the other planes in some way. I don't want to overwhelm you with the details, but, for the most part, it looks like nothing from outside this world can get in and nothing from this world can get out. The portal through which we arrived is, of course, a notable exception."

Hermione's face had turned red and her hands were trembling with emotion. Her lips were moving as if she wanted to say something, but just couldn't get the words out. Just as she looked as if she were about to burst, she opened her mouth and a torrent of words came out.

"Now… now _wait _a minute! This can't _possibly_ — I mean, how can — all right, I know Dumbledore must be right about you being artificial because I managed to revive you with _Reparo,_ which should have no effect on living creatures at all, and for you to be alive without breathing, you couldn't really be _alive…_ and, and life on other planets is at least theoretically _possible,_ but, _really_… another _dimension,_ or plane, or whatever you want to call it; I mean… that _can't_ be! That's… I-I mean, that's just…"

Phoebe smiled at Hermione, who seemed to have run out of breath. "Barmy?"

"_Yes! _Exactly! It's _barmy!_ Completely _mental!_"

Phoebe chuckled. "Well, I realize this is quite a lot to take in, and I certainly don't expect you to believe it merely because I say so. Fortunately, there is a very simple way to prove my claim, and it involves nothing more than a trip back to London. But I think we're getting just a little ahead of ourselves. First, I should do you all the courtesy of a formal introduction."

She paused. "My name, as you may know, is Phoebe Silver-Black, and I have come here on behalf of my faction, the Fraternity of Order. I would also like to present my good friend and loyal comrade, Celeste of Aspen Keep, who is a member of an allied faction called the Harmonium. Celeste, may I present Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Celeste reached out to shake Dumbledore's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Profess — _ah!_"

She drew her hand back suddenly, as if she'd just received some type of shock. Phoebe looked down and saw that Dumbledore's right hand was oddly blackened and shriveled.

"I do apologise if the appearance of my hand startled you, Ms. Aspen," said Dumbledore.

"It's not that, Professor," said Celeste uncertainly. "It's just…" She paused for a moment. "Phoebe, what do you make of that?"

"Wait; let me get my equipment first." Phoebe retrieved her gold headband and rings from the table, then smiled as she placed the headband on her head. "Ah, that's better."

She reached out to touch Dumbledore's hand. "May I, Professor?"

"Oh, yes; by all means. Any insight you could provide into my condition would be most helpful."

Phoebe stared at Dumbledore's hand intently and gently stroked it with her fingers. After a long pause, she looked up. "It's a necromantic spell. Very powerful. I'd say it's some type of curse that causes the flesh to decay. It's not anything I'm familiar with, though; I'm afraid necromancy isn't my field of expertise."

Dumbledore sighed. "It is, I fear, the result of an unfortunate encounter with Dark magic."

Celeste nodded. "Well, that explains it, then. I assure you I meant no offense, Professor; it's just that I sensed the presence of evil when I touched your hand."

"Evil?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Do you mean to say you can sense the presence of Dark magic?"

"Well, not just magic, Professor; any source of evil. Take Umbridge, for example. I mean, her actions alone are enough to prove that she's petty and malicious, but my magic tells me that Umbridge's soul is as black as that hand."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. "Can you truly see into someone's _soul__?_"

Celeste smiled. "Well, that makes it sound a lot more dramatic than it really is. I'll put it this way. Think of your soul as a kind of lamp. Let's say a good person's lamp gives off white light, while an evil person… well, black doesn't really make sense, so let's say it's red. Now, the average person's lamp isn't bright enough to be seen outside their body, while a powerful wizard or great warrior or someone like that has a lamp that shines a lot brighter. With me so far?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded; Celeste continued. "So, basically, my magic allows me to detect that red light and see how bright it is. Now, I didn't bother to check those two Death Eaters at the Leaky Cauldron because, let's face it, a black robe and skull mask are not exactly subtle. I just grabbed hold of that criminal Greyback and showed him why it's a bad idea to resist arrest!"

"So you and Phoebe are in law enforcement, then?" asked Tonks.

"I am, but Phoebe isn't; at least, not exactly. You see, I'm a member of the Harmonium faction, and it's our job to patrol the streets and arrest criminals in Sigil. Phoebe's a Guvner; that's a nickname for a member of the Fraternity of Order. Their job is to run Sigil's courts, but they also do a lot of other things as well."

"The Fraternity of Order is all about laws," said Phoebe. "The laws that courts deal with are only a small part of what we do. We believe that laws govern everything in existence: laws of nature, laws of magic, laws of probability, and so on. By understanding these laws, we also understand their limitations, allowing us to effectively circumvent the restrictions they impose."

"In other words, they can bend laws without breaking them," said Celeste.

"Exactly. And that's important, because it's forbidden for a Guvner to knowingly violate a law. Doing so could get me expelled from the faction."

"Excuse me," said Hermione, "but I believe you mentioned before that there was a simple way to prove that what you're saying is true?"

"Indeed there is," said Phoebe. "There is a flat in the East End of London that contains the portal through which we arrived. Now, I don't know if you're familiar with the concept of a portal, but it's a magical doorway that allows instantaneous passage between two locations. In this case, one side of the portal is in the flat, and the other is in a warehouse in Sigil."

Hermione frowned. "So there's a portal to another plane of existence in somebody's _flat?_ And nobody _noticed__?_ How is that even _possible?_"

"Well, first of all, the portal hasn't been there very long; it appeared approximately two months ago. Secondly, a portal is just an ordinary doorway without the proper key. A portal key can be nearly anything: an object, a gesture, a word, even a thought. But no matter what it is, you need to have it with you for the portal to work."

Phoebe went to the table and removed a coin from one of the small bags. "This is a copper piece minted in Sigil, and it's the key to the portal in London. It actually works with any Sigil coin, but there's no reason to use a gold piece when you can pay in copper."

She laughed and shook her head. "Right now, our poor solicitor is waiting at the flat; she must be delirious with worry by now."

"It hasn't been that long since I talked to her," said Celeste.

"Yes, but you told her a hostile wizard teleported you into the river. That's probably _not_ the sort of message she's used to receiving."

"Hold on a minute," said Ginny. "A _wizard?_ Unless Umbridge Transfigured herself into a man, I'm pretty sure she's a _witch._"

"Oh, I see!" said Phoebe. "You use the terms 'witch' and 'wizard' to designate gender. Back home, those terms refer to the _type_ of magic a spellcaster practises. I'd rather not get into the details right now, but, for the record, I practise wizardry, not witchcraft."

"It would seem that, regardless of the terms used to describe it, your magic is very different from ours," said Dumbledore. "I believe that an exchange of knowledge in this area would be extremely rewarding."

"Oh, absolutely, Professor! I've got a stack of books prepared at the warehouse for just such an exchange. Naturally, I've included the standard beginners' texts on spell theory, as well as alchemy, magic item construction, and divination. I also have the new textbook I wrote on planar cosmology, as well as some of the more traditional works on the subject. All in all, it's about 10,300 pages; I think it's a pretty fair collection to get started with."

Ron's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Bloody _hell!_ Ten thousand pages — I couldn't read that in my whole _life!_"

"You see, Phoebe?" said Celeste. "I told you that was too much; it's just going to intimidate them. _You_ may not need to eat or sleep, but humans _do,_ and there's no _way_ a human being would ever want to read that…"

Celeste glanced at Hermione, whose face bore an expression of almost religious reverence. "Oh, right. I forgot I'm in a room full of _wizards._"

"Are you saying you're _not_ a wizard, then?" asked Harry. He frowned in confusion. "But you just said you have magic."

"I have a _little_ bit of magic," replied Celeste, "but it comes from a different source than Phoebe's. I am a paladin; a holy warrior of the glorious St. Cuthbert. With the power of my faith, my sword, and my fists, I bring divine justice to those who do evil."

"Well, we could certainly use some of that now," said Harry. "I don't know if anyone's told you about Voldemort yet, but he's a powerful Dark wizard who's in charge of the Death Eaters."

Celeste frowned. "What _is_ it with evil wizards and these names? It's always something like 'Zorplax' or 'Glomph the Malodorous.'"

Harry smiled. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, his _real_ name is Tom Riddle."

"Now, you see, that's more like it. An evil wizard named 'Tom.'"

"I don't think Tom from the Leaky Cauldron would like that," said Phoebe.

"Yeah, I suppose it would be awkward if the Aurors showed up," said Celeste. "He'd say 'Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, my name is Tom — ' 'DON'T MOVE, YOU FIEND! NOW, UP AGAINST THE WALL!'"

At that, the room burst into laughter. Celeste glanced at Phoebe and smiled. "Ha! And your husband says I have no sense of humor."

"No, he'd say you were amused at the thought of innocent citizens being oppressed."

"Honestly, do you have to make the comebacks _for_ him?" Celeste sighed. "I can't even win an argument with James when he isn't _here._"

"Is there really an evil wizard named Glomph the Malodorous?" asked Ron.

Celeste wrinkled her nose. "I certainly _hope_ not. That Death Eater Greyback was malodorous _enough._"

Phoebe stroked her chin in thought. "So this 'Voldemort' is the one whom Tom referred to as 'You-Kn0w-Who.' Just how dangerous a threat is he?"

Harry laughed. "Now I _know_ you couldn't possibly be from this world. There isn't a witch or wizard on Earth who doesn't know the name of Voldemort — and most of them are afraid to even say it out loud. That's why people call him 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' As for how dangerous he is…"

He paused, then took a deep breath. "Well, he killed my parents and tried to kill me when I was only one year old. Ever since I've been a student at Hogwarts, he's come up with some kind of plot to kill me about once a year. Just recently, he and his Death Eaters attacked the Ministry of Magic. They killed my godfather, Sirius, and nearly killed my best friends."

He gestured at Ron and Hermione. "But, you know what? After all of that, I'm still alive." He chuckled ruefully. "I guess that's why everyone calls me 'The Boy Who Lived.'"

Harry sighed. "I don't how I've managed to survive or why, but I've got to say I'm not really afraid of Tommy Riddle anymore. I mean, if he can't even manage to do something as simple as killing _me,_ how does he think he's going to take over the entire Wizarding World? He thinks he's some kind of great wizard king, but he's really nothing more than a common murderer, and I want nothing more than to see him _pay_ for what he's done!"

As Harry spoke, Celeste's expression hardened. When he was finished, she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Truly, you have suffered a great injustice at the hands of this foul creature, and such an injustice shall not go unpunished! If there is aught that my friends and I can do to assist you in your quest, then I give you my word that my sword shall be at your service. Let Voldemort tremble, for he faces not merely the strength of one woman, _but the divine retribution of St. Cuthbert __**himself!**_"

Harry stared at Celeste with his mouth open in surprise. "Well, er… thanks, but I don't think a sword would do much good against him. If you tried, he'd probably just blast you with the Killing Curse."

Celeste smiled. "Though a paladin is required to engage in honorable combat, she is _not_ required to place honor before reason. I'm sure Phoebe would agree that information must be gathered and a strategy formulated before engaging in combat with an unknown opponent."

"Indeed I would," replied Phoebe. "And, Mr. Potter, I would also like to express my sincerest condolences for the losses you have suffered. I agree with Celeste; if there is anything we can do to help, we would be more than happy to do so."

Harry blushed as he looked back and forth between Celeste and Phoebe. "Well, I… I don't really know what to say. Why would you want to do all that for me? I mean, we only met a few minutes ago!"

"Because it is the duty of all beings to stand against evil, no matter where it may hide," declared Celeste. "Besides, we have struck a blow against the Death Eaters already, and it probably won't be long before Voldemort learns what we have done."

"Of course, before engaging in any further combat with this world's witches and wizards, we should first exchange knowledge as suggested by Professor Dumbledore," said Phoebe. "But, before we can do that, there is still the matter of demonstrating our provenance."

Ron frowned. "Hermione, could you translate that last bit into English?"

Hermione folded her arms indignantly. "Well, I _would_ if you actually _spoke_ it."

Phoebe laughed. "Yes, that was a bit obscure of me, wasn't it? I'm afraid it's an occupational hazard in the Fraternity of Order. What I _meant_ is that we still need to show you the portal in order to prove where we came from. At the very least, we need to go back to the flat and let Wendy know that we're not dead."

"When you say you want to _show_ us the portal," said Tonks, "you really mean that one of us should go _through _it, right?"

"Well, I think it would be better if _two_ of you went through first," replied Phoebe. "That way, you would have additional protection against a single witness being unduly influenced. In addition, Celeste can stay here as assurance for the travellers' safe return."

"I don't think we need to do all _that__,_" said Tonks. "I mean, I don't want you to think we don't trust you."

"But that's just it; we want to give you a _reason_ to trust us. Once we've proven the portal is real and that people can pass through and return unharmed, then a high-up wizard like Professor Dumbledore will be able to make the trip without concern that he is putting himself at risk."

"I am flattered by your estimation of my importance, Ms. Black," said Dumbledore, "but I am not the one who will need convincing. As my four adventurous students here are no doubt eager to behold your city for themselves, it is Molly who will need to be assured of their safety first."

Mrs. Weasley blushed. "Now, Albus, I know I'm an overprotective mother, but I don't really think that either of these young ladies would actually want to harm my children. It's just that… well, if what they're saying is true… they're talking about literally stepping off the face of the _Earth!_" She wrung her hands. "I mean, I think you'd have to be a _lunatic_ not to feel a _little_ terrified at the thought of such a thing, no matter _how_ safe it is!"

Phoebe gently placed her hand on Mrs. Weasley's. "Molly, believe me, I do understand something of what you are feeling right now. I was _extremely_ nervous when I first came to Sigil because I'd never been _anywhere_ outside my home city before. Of course, I'd read everything I could about Sigil first, but I was still both excited and afraid to actually _see_ it for the first time. Once you _do_ see it, though…"

Phoebe sighed as she remembered. "There's no going back. I mean, of course you can go _back_ just by stepping through the portal; I meant that in a purely symbolic or emotional sense."

"Now _that_ sounds like someone I know," said Hermione. "That's exactly how I felt when I first came to Hogwarts! My parents are Muggles, so neither they nor I even knew that magic was real until an official from the Ministry of Magic came to our house and explained it to us."

She laughed. "Oh, my God, this is exactly the same! You're trying to explain all these new concepts and I'm sitting here saying, 'Prove it.' And, then, you're going to wave a wand, or, in this case, toss a coin through a portal, and I'm suddenly going to realize that there's so much more to learn now!"

She shook her head. "But that _still_ doesn't mean I don't want to see the proof. And… and those books you were talking about had better be _real!_"

Phoebe nodded solemnly. "Miss Granger, I assure you; I do _not_ joke about books."

Hermione smiled. "You can call me 'Hermione' if you want. Only my teachers at Hogwarts call me 'Miss Granger.'"

"Why, thank you, Hermione; I just didn't wish to presume." Phoebe glanced at the others. "For the record, you may all call me 'Phoebe' if you like; I don't need to speak formally unless it's in my official capacity as an Assistant Bureau Chief in the Fraternity of Order. Which I am not doing right now despite saying 'for the record.'" She sighed. "And I should really shut my bone-box before I say anything more confusing."

Celeste patted her on the shoulder. "Yeah, I think that's enough 'Guvner-speak' for one day." She turned to the others. "Oh, and everyone can call me 'Celeste' as well. Where I come from, we don't have family names as such; 'Aspen' is just the closest thing to it."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny quickly agreed to allow Phoebe and Celeste to use their first names, as did Mrs. Weasley and Madame Pomfrey. This required them to be introduced to Celeste first since their previous introduction had been interrupted. Tonks reluctantly admitted that her first name was 'Nymphadora,' but asked that it not be used "except under extreme circumstances."

Phoebe turned to Dumbledore. "If it's all the same to you, Professor, I'd feel more comfortable continuing to address you by your title. It just doesn't seem proper to be too familiar with a man of your obvious authority."

"Ah, but I have no authority over _you,_ Ms. Black," replied Dumbledore. "My authority extends only to my faculty and students."

"But, Professor, if we are to exchange knowledge, then that would make me your student, correct? Therefore, it is only proper that I should address you in the appropriate manner."

Dumbledore laughed. "I can see that attempting to refute your logic would be futile. Such skills are no doubt valuable in a court of law."

"Well, I don't deal with the courts much," said Phoebe. "I mainly work under the Bureau of Research. But, for any Guvner, logic is the only thing more valuable than knowledge, for only through logic can we know that _what_ we know is true."

"All right, enough with the philosophy," said Tonks. "Now that we're all friends, can we go and see this portal? I, for one, would like to see what another dimension looks like."

"It's a _plane,_ Tonks, not a _dimension,_" said Phoebe. "If anyone in Sigil heard you say that, they'd laugh at you and call you a 'Clueless.'"

"A 'Clueless,' huh? Well, I wouldn't want _that._ So, you're here to give us some clues, then?"

"Precisely."

Tonks grinned and her hair suddenly turned bright pink. "Then, I say, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Mrs. Weasley frowned. "Well, I don't think we can simply run off right this moment! We should have a proper meeting of the Order first to let the others know what's going on. For heaven's sake, Bill and Fleur haven't even returned from lunch yet! I really don't think it would be appropriate to leave a _not__e_ in a situation like _this!_"

"Well, at any rate, Celeste and I need to get back to let my husband and our friends know that everything is under control," said Phoebe. "Before going to the Leaky Cauldron, we told Wendy to toss a letter through the portal if we didn't report back within one hour or if anything went wrong."

She laughed. "'If,' indeed. Something _always _manages to go wrong on these missions; it's just a matter of how painful it will be and for whom. Still, I'd definitely call this one a success. Oh, yes; what time is it?"

Dumbledore drew a pocket watch from his robes. "It is precisely 12:41 P.M."

Phoebe nodded. "That would make it 6:32 B.P. in Sigil, which corresponds to 5:28 A.M. on your clocks. It will probably take about an hour for the others to assemble and prepare, so we should have plenty of time to intercept them.

She paused. "So, Professor, what I would suggest is that a small number of people accompany us back to Sigil so that they can get a first-hand impression of the place. While they're doing that, you could assemble all the people you want for a meeting here. Then, we could return for the meeting this evening, where we could all discuss what to do next. Does this plan meet with your approval, Professor?"

"Ah! An excellent plan, Ms. Black! Would 7 P.M. be a good time for the meeting?"

"That would be almost peak — what you would call noon — in Sigil, so that would be perfect."

"Splendid!" Dumbledore paused. "I think we should have the meeting at Hogwarts. Since classes are not yet in session, it would be a good time for you to see what we have to offer. You could even spend the night, if you wish — though, as an artificial construct, you probably have no need for sleep, correct?"

"Well, not as such," said Phoebe, "but I do need to rest in order to prepare my mind for spellcasting. Celeste, on the other hand, is as human as you, and the others… well, two of them are of mostly human ancestry…"

"Yeah, but they'll still be on Sigil time," said Celeste.

"True, but we've already dragged them out of bed early with our emergency letter," replied Phoebe. "Besides, they'll need to get synchronized with local time at some point, so it might as well be tonight."

Celeste nodded. "So, I guess that just leaves the question of who will be coming with us."

Tonks raised her hand. "Oh! Oh! Pick me! Pick me!"

Phoebe laughed. "Well, that's one. Any other volunteers?"

"C'mon, Mum," said Ron, "you've got to let us go! I mean, it's not like this Sigil is dangerous…" He glanced at Phoebe. "Is it?"

"Well, there certainly are dangerous parts of town," said Phoebe, "but, I assure you, we won't be going anywhere near them."

"And, besides," said Celeste, "you'll have two law enforcement professionals with you at all times."

"Well, I don't think I have jurisdiction in another plane of existence," said Tonks.

"Oh, don't worry about that." Celeste smiled. "That's for the Guvners to sort out."

"Ah, but one of the advantages of being an Assistant Bureau Chief is that I can order _another_ Guvner to sort it out _for_ me," said Phoebe.

"Oh, _no__!_" said Celeste in an overly dramatic tone. "All that power is corrupting you! What _would_ your husband say?"

Phoebe laughed. "I think we've _both_ been hanging around that berk too long. We're actually starting to understand how he thinks."

"Well, at least we'll be bringing him back with us," replied Celeste. "Then _he_ can make the allegedly humorous comments and _we_ can go back to acting like normal people."

Tonks shook her head and smiled. "This husband of yours sounds like a real character."

"An appropriate description," said Phoebe, "since he is an actor by trade. But, you'll be meeting James soon enough, so I should probably stop besmirching his reputation and get back to deciding who else will be coming."

Phoebe turned to Mrs. Weasley. "Molly, would it be all right with you for the children to come? I realize this whole thing is completely unprecedented, and I can certainly understand how uncertain that would make you feel, especially since your son has already been a victim of crime. I can only imagine how terrible it must feel to know that a gang of violent criminals is still out there."

She grasped Mrs. Weasley's hand. "But I know where those Death Eaters are _not, _and that is Sigil. We control both sides of the portal, and we will not allow any hostiles to pass. Even if they were to magically control me or use a shapeshifting disguise to impersonate me, their deceptions would fail as soon as they stepped through the portal — and then they would be facing a lot of angry guards with _guns._"

"Good heavens!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Just what sort of warehouse are you running over there?"

"One that belongs to the Skyleaf Security Company," said Phoebe. "Zechariah Skyleaf, my superior in the Fraternity of Order who's in charge of this mission, just happens to be the owner of the warehouse _and_ the company. He keeps a number of valuable cargoes in there for his clients. When the portal appeared, he figured that since his defences and guards were there already, they could just as easily protect the warehouse from within as well as without."

"A horde of rampaging tanar'ri couldn't break into that place," said Celeste, "and, yes, they have, in fact, actually _tried._"

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Well, I suppose if your guards can deal with a rampaging horde of _anything, _they would have no problem taking care of a few Death Eaters, _particularly_ since the two of you have already done so. I'm just having a hard time dealing with the concept of a city that's not even in this _universe._ I mean, it's as if it would be further away than even the farthest star in the sky."

"Well, you shouldn't really think in terms of distance," said Phoebe. "Planes are either connected to each other or they're not; it's as simple as that. There's a lot of complicated theory that explains how those connections work, but there is literally no _distance_ that separates them at all. You're probably feeling as if your children were about to embark on a long journey, but when I say it's nothing more than stepping through a doorway, I mean exactly that: a single step."

She smiled. "Don't worry if you find all this a bit hard to grasp. It's very common for people from the Material Plane to feel that way. Oh, the Material Plane is what we call the universe you're familiar with. The best thing to do is not to dwell on the details. Or, you could just come with us and see the city for yourself."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "I understand what you're saying about it being just one step, but I don't think I'm quite ready to take that step just yet. But I realize that's just my own lack of understanding; I'm sure Hermione will figure it all out a lot sooner than me."

She flashed Hermione a kindly grin. "And you're right; whatever else is in this 'City of Doors,' there won't be any Death Eaters there. Merlin knows these four have gotten themselves into _enough _trouble with that lot already."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "All right. The children can go, but I think at least one more adult from _this_ world should go with them." She turned to Dumbledore. "Albus, I know you've got a lot of important things to do, but it would make me feel a lot better if you went along. I could contact the rest of the Order and then make _some_ attempt at explaining all this to Bill and Fleur."

She laughed. "I can hardly imagine how I'll manage _that!_ 'Oh, hello, dear! While you were out, our entire conception of the universe was turned upside down. Your brother and sister will be back on Earth at seven. And how was your lunch?'"

Everyone in the room broke out in a fit of laughter.

"Molly, I would indeed be more than happy to accompany the children on this adventure," said Dumbledore. "Any duties I have here must surely pale in comparison to such an unprecedented opportunity for the acquisition of knowledge."

"I wish everyone would stop calling me a _child,_" protested Ron. "I mean, I've fought Death Eaters! I've been wounded in combat!"

"You're a child until you turn seventeen," declared Mrs. Weasley. She winked at Phoebe. "That's wizarding law."

Phoebe frowned. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before. Molly, are you Harry Potter's legal guardian?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I would have been in a heartbeat, but, unfortunately…" She cast a furtive glance at Dumbledore. "The circumstances didn't allow it."

"And I suppose it would be safe to assume that neither Harry nor Hermione have reached the age of seventeen?"

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Harry. "You can't just get us all excited about going and then suddenly say we're not old enough!"

"I didn't say that, Harry," said Phoebe. "I would just need some sort of permission from your legal guardian."

Harry sighed. "Look, my aunt and uncle are my legal guardians, and they hate me. I tried to get them to sign a permission form for me once, and it was a complete disaster. Besides, they're both Muggles, which means they have no magic. Do you really think they'd understand even _half_ of what you've been saying?"

"Your aunt and uncle _hate_ you?" Phoebe frowned. "That sounds like a story that should be told, but not right now. However, it wouldn't actually be necessary to explain the details. We could simply say you're going on an… educational excursion… under the supervision of the headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Yeah, but the Dursleys still wouldn't give me permission," said Harry.

Dumbledore smiled. "I believe your aunt and uncle would be more inclined to do so if I were to make the request in person. I'm sure you'll agree that my most recent visit left quite an impression on them."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, they'll probably agree to anything just to get you to leave."

"Indeed. In fact, I should take care of that now. I can visit your aunt and uncle and be back in two shakes of a hippogriff's tail."

"Well, if you're going to do that, Professor," said Phoebe, "you could just meet us back at the Leaky Cauldron. From there, we can take the Underground to Whitechapel, and, then, it's a short walk to the flat."

She turned to Tonks. "Am I correct in assuming the fireplace can take us back to the Leaky Cauldron just as it brought you here?"

"Yes, it's called the Floo Network," replied Tonks. "It connects various fireplaces in wizarding homes and businesses to allow communication and transportation."

"If it's a network, that would mean there's a central hub of some sort that controls the traveller's destination," said Phoebe. "Oh, I would _love_ to get a look at _that!_ How many fireplaces can it — "

She clasped her hands together and sighed. "Right. I'll look into that _later._"

Dumbledore smiled at her. "Well, if there's nothing else, Ms. Black, I'll be on my way." He walked across the room and opened the outside door.

"Wait," said Phoebe. "You're not going to use the Floo Network, then?"

"No, I shall simply Disapparate once I'm outside the protective wards," said Dumbledore. "You needn't worry; I am far more proficient than Miss Umbridge."

Phoebe laughed. "Somehow, I doubt that would be difficult. We'll see you at the Leaky Cauldron, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded, then stepped outside. Phoebe watched as he walked a short distance away from the house, then vanished with a loud popping sound. She turned back to the others in the room and clapped her hands. "Right! Now, we just need permission from Hermione's parents and then we'll be off."

"Well, I suppose we could send them an owl," said Hermione. "I mean, I'm sure they'd grant me permission for anything to do with school. It's just that they might find it suspicious if we asked them to send back a signed form right _now._"

"Couldn't you just use a telephone?" asked Celeste. "I thought everyone had one of those here."

Hermione laughed. "I can't believe I was so _stupid!_ I've become so accustomed to using magical methods for everything that I completely forgot about the Muggle way." She shook her head. "And, really, my parents _are_ Muggles, so I have no excuse at all. I'm so embarrassed."

"But we don't have a felly — I mean, telephone — here," said Ron.

"But Phoebe _does_ have one at her flat," said Hermione, smiling. "It's perfect. I'll just ring up Mum and Dad, put the Professor on the line, and that should do it." She glanced at Phoebe. "Unless you need something in writing?"

"No, for a simple trip like this, verbal consent is considered sufficient," said Phoebe. "However, I think it would be best to obtain a more _informed_ consent for any future excursions."

Celeste frowned. "It seems a bit dishonest not to tell her parents the dark of it now."

"Perhaps, but it would no doubt take a very long time, and it would be unfair to deny her the opportunity already given to her friends. Besides, it's not as if we're going to do anything risky; Lessia will probably insist we take them _shopping._"

"All right; I can accept that as long as we don't actually lie. But we'd better let them know the _whole _truth later."

"Agreed." Phoebe turned to Tonks and gestured at the fireplace. "So, how exactly does one operate this device?"

"Hang on," said Harry. "Before we go, is there anything we need to bring with us?"

Phoebe suddenly noticed the short-sleeved shirts Harry and his friends were wearing. "Oh, yes! There's nothing you would actually need to bring, but you should probably put on something a bit warmer. It's not exactly freezing in Sigil right now, but it is a bit on the chilly side."

"Right," said Mrs. Weasley. "Everyone, go and put on your jumpers. And don't forget your coats; I won't have you catching an unearthly cold."

As the four youngsters went upstairs, Mrs. Weasley looked worried. "There aren't _really_ any diseases they could catch out there, are there?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about _that,_" said Celeste. "As a paladin, I have the power to cure any disease by touch, though I doubt that my services will actually be required. As long as you avoid any _questionable_ eating establishments, it's pretty easy to stay healthy in Sigil."

Phoebe turned back to Tonks. "All right, then. Where were we?"

Tonks walked over to the fireplace and picked up a small pot on the mantle. "This is Floo Powder. All you have to do is stand in the fireplace, speak your destination clearly, then toss a handful of the powder at your feet."

She grabbed some of the powder, then stepped into the fireplace. "I'll go first so you can see how it works. The Leaky Cauldron!" Tonks threw the powder at her feet and disappeared in a flash of green flame.

"Seems pretty straightforward," said Phoebe. She went to the table and swept her possessions into her backpack, then entered the fireplace and picked up a handful of powder.

"Oh, Molly, on the off chance that something goes wrong, I should tell you where the portal is located. It's at 14B Heresford Lane, Whitechapel, in flat #303. Our solicitor, Wendy, will be there all day if you need her."

Mrs. Weasley nodded; Phoebe grasped the Floo Powder tightly. "All right, then. Let's see what this fireplace can do."

She tossed the powder at her feet. _"__The Leaky Cauldron!"_

* * *

**Style Note:** This story uses US spelling for prose and Celeste's dialogue, and UK spelling for the other characters' dialogue. This can be accomplished by selecting text in Microsoft Word and designating its language, allowing spell checks to show that both 'honor' and 'honour' are spelled correctly. Isn't technology great?

* * *

**Behind The Curtain:**

This story is currently taking place on Sunday, August 18, 1996. This is between chapters 6 and 7 of **Half-Blood Prince **according to the timelines on the **HP Lexicon **website.

Those of you who are familiar with **DnD **or **Pathfinder **have no doubt been wondering about the game stats of our otherworldly heroes. Well, wonder no longer, because they are about to be revealed!

For those of you who don't have the **Pathfinder **rulebooks, you can get a free (and legal) copy of the rules by searching for the **PFSRD.**

**Phoebe Silver-Black**

Female constructed elf diviner 8 / loremaster 2; LG  
Str 8, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 24, Wis 12, Cha 10  
**Selected ****Items:** _belt of physical might__ (Dex/Con) +2, handy haversack, hat of disguise, __headband of vast intelligence +4_

**Celeste of Aspen Keep**

Female human monk 1 / paladin 9; LG  
Str 16, Dex 12, Con 16, Int 12, Wis 13, Cha 20  
**Selected ****Items:** _belt of physical perfection +2, headband of alluring charisma +4_

Phoebe has the same racial abilities as a normal **Pathfinder **elf, except that her creature type has been changed to "construct" with the living construct subtype. (This subtype has not been officially converted to **Pathfinder**; it can be found in the **Eberron **campaign setting for **DnD.**) In addition, the standard elven weapon proficiencies have been replaced by Exotic Weapon Proficiency (firearms).

When Celeste commanded the Death Eaters to halt in Chapter 1, she was using a spell-like ability that comes from her membership in the Harmonium. It allows her to use _greater command _once per day as a cleric of her character level. This ability comes from the Authority feat from the **Planewalker** website.

The spell Phoebe was using to track Celeste is called _tracer_ and can be found in **101 3****rd**** Level Spells **by Rite Publishing, which can be purchased on the **Paizo** website.

Finally, the city of Sigil is pronounced to rhyme with "wiggle." There's no surer way to be branded a Clueless than to get this wrong. In most cases, that's just a figure of speech, but in _some_ parts of Sigil, well…

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

"Hey, Tetch, I think we spelled 'Clueless' wrong."

"Eh, just cross it out and write it again."

"**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"**


	5. Chapter 4: Doors to the Unknown

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY  
****A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover**

**This story and all original materials are © 2011 Rick Summon.  
_Harry Potter_ and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.  
_Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, _and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.  
_Pathfinder _and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.**

* * *

_The BBC would like to apologise for last chapter's sketch. It is not an accurate depiction of our meteorological department, which provides temperatures solely in Celsius. We also have the greatest respect for the producers of **Star Trek,** though **Doctor Who** is clearly a far superior programme._

**Radio Announcer 1: **Oh, now, wait a minute! **Doctor Who **is _superior?_ The show in which every alien menace just _happens_ to have a fatal weakness to a household item?

**Radio Announcer 2: **_(sighs) _What are you on about _now,_ Nigel?

**Announcer 1: **Take the Cybermen, for example. They're completely immune to bullets, of _course,_ but if someone shoves a bit of gold jewellery in their chest, they're Cyber-_dead_-men. And what about those Slitheen creatures, eh? Just grab some malt vinegar from a fish-and-chips shop and _boom!_

**Announcer 2: **Well, if you're so smart, mate, then what about the Daleks? They don't have any weaknesses like that, and they're the iconic villains of the show! And, before you say it, stairs are _not_ a weakness for them anymore; they've had the ability to levitate since 1987.

**Announcer 1: **_Their_ weakness is that they never shut up long enough to shoot you! It's always "EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!" over and over, but they won't just _do _it!

**Announcer 2: **Oh, and **Star Trek **never has any villains like that, do they? Does the phrase "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE" mean anything to you? I mean, the Borg don't even bother _pretending _they're going to shoot; they either just shamble toward you like zombies or they completely _ignore_ you even if you beam onto their ship!

**Announcer 1: **They don't _need_ to shoot; they've got shields that can adapt to any weapon!

**Announcer 2: **Except _bullets_. Yes, the one thing every alien menace in **Doctor Who **had the good sense to be immune to. The Brigadier would have said, "Chap with cybernetics there — five rounds rapid," and that, as they say, would have been _that!_

_The BBC would like to apologise to the entire Internet for this chapter's sketch. If it had been allowed to continue, one of them would have likely mentioned Greedo firing first in **Star Wars, **and then the BBC would have had no alternative but to kill them. With bullets._

* * *

_There are worlds beyond the world that you know.  
Other universes, dimensions — the Planes of Existence.  
From the Sevenfold Heavens to the Nine Pits of Hell;  
From the Endless Waters to the Silvery Void;  
From the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits of reality itself — and __**beyond.**__  
At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control... the _**Planescape.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Doors to the Unknown**

Harry Potter found himself looking at the front door of what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary London flat. After a short wait at the Leaky Cauldron, Dumbledore had arrived with the news that the Dursleys had granted him permission for the trip to Sigil. Of course, Harry knew that his uncle's response had almost certainly _not_ been phrased so politely.

"_You can take that little freak anywhere you want, just as long as it's far away from here!"_

Harry smiled ruefully at the thought. If that had indeed been what his uncle had said, then he was about to get his wish in a manner beyond his wildest imaginings. (Not that imagination was a talent any Dursley had in abundance; Harry figured it would take at least an hour for them to even grasp the concept that the 'plane' he was visiting was not at the airport.) Behind him in the hallway stood Dumbledore, Tonks, Ron, and Hermione, while Phoebe (who had resumed her human disguise) and Celeste stood in front.

Phoebe knocked on the door. "Wendy, it's Phoebe. You can let us in now; everything is under control."

The door opened, revealing a woman with light brown skin and shoulder-length black hair wearing a light blue blouse, beige trousers, and brown slip-on shoes. At the sight of Phoebe, she put her hand on her chest and breathed a loud sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank _God!_ I've been worrying myself _sick_ ever since I got that phone call!"

Celeste smiled. "Oh, we ran into a bit of trouble, but it was nothing we couldn't handle."

Wendy laughed nervously. "I will never understand how you two can be so nonchalant about things like… being _attacked_ by hostile _wizards!_"

"Well, first of all, we're alive and unharmed," said Phoebe, "and, second, we've brought some _friendly_ wizards — oh, and witches — with us. But we should probably go inside before discussing this further."

"Yes… yes, of course. Please, come in!"

Harry and the others stepped into a short entrance hall, then turned left into the main room of the flat. On the left was a kitchen area with a wooden dining table; on the right was a living area with a sofa, a large armchair, an entertainment center, and a bookshelf. The floor was made of polished wood, and the walls were adorned with a few pleasant pictures of trees and flowers.

Once everyone was inside, Phoebe placed her left arm around Wendy's shoulders and addressed the group. "Everyone, I would like to introduce our solicitor, Miss Wendy Sandaranga, who I'm proud to say has been doing an absolutely _outstanding_ job. I don't think the majority of the attorneys in Sigil have even half of her professionalism and competence."

Wendy blushed and shook her head. "Well, thanks; but, I mean, I haven't really been doing all that much."

Phoebe smiled at her. "Your work here has been absolutely vital to the success of our mission. And, as you can see, it has indeed been a success! It is my great honour to present to you Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I would also like to present his students, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Last, but certainly not least, I present Auror Nymphadora Tonks; 'Auror' is her title as a magical law enforcement officer."

As she shook Wendy's hand and gave her a friendly smile, Tonks's hair turned bright pink. "Wotcher, Wendy! I'd prefer it if you'd just call me 'Tonks'; I'm afraid my first name is just a bit embarrassing."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, er… Tonks." Wendy paused. "I hope this isn't too personal a question, but… does your hair always do that?"

"You mean change colour? Oh, yes, it often does that when I feel a strong emotion. You see, I'm what's known as a 'Metamorphmagus', which is a rather long word meaning a witch or wizard who can change her appearance at will."

Tonks took a step back. "Let me show you." As her brow furrowed in concentration, Tonks's face, skin, and hair suddenly changed to match Wendy's.

The fake Wendy smiled at the real one. "You didn't know you had a twin sister, did you?"

"Very interesting," said Phoebe. "Am I right in thinking your ability to change is separate from your spellcasting ability?"

"Yes," said Tonks as she returned to her normal appearance. "A Metamorphmagus is born with the gift; though, of course, we have to practice in order to learn how to make the best use of it."

"Phoebe, are you sure that's how she _really_ looks right now?" said Celeste.

"If she really wanted to hide her true appearance," said Phoebe, "then she wouldn't have demonstrated her shapeshifting ability right in front of us. Besides…" She removed her magic hat. "Don't you think that accusation would be just a _bit_ hypocritical?"

Celeste chuckled. "Sorry about that, Tonks; I just get a bit paranoid about shapeshifting sometimes. As a fellow law enforcement officer, I'm sure you understand."

Tonks laughed. "Oh, yes; I'm well aware of its criminal potential. Fortunately, I'm not aware of any Death Eaters with the ability, so that's at least one advantage we have over them."

Wendy smiled. "Just when I think I've seen everything, this 'magic' stuff never ceases to amaze. But, if Tonks here is a magical police officer, does that mean there's some kind of magical _government?_"

"Here in Britain, we call it the Ministry of Magic," said Tonks. "Every country has something similar to govern its magical population."

"You're saying the British government has an entire _ministry_ that no one knows about?" said Wendy. "How on Earth do they manage to hide that in the budget?"

"Well, despite the name, the Ministry of Magic isn't really a part of the Muggle government; 'Muggle' being a term for non-magical people such as yourself. It's actually an entirely separate government whose main duty is to keep magic hidden from the general population. In fact, the Prime Minister is the only Muggle government official in Britain who is officially allowed to know about our existence."

Wendy frowned. "But how is it possible for all these wizards and witches to live here without anyone knowing about them? I mean, I can deal with the idea of wizards from another plane of existence; I understand that these portal things are not exactly common here. But when Zeck said he was looking for wizards in _this _world, I thought _that_ idea was crazy! It's been _centuries_ since people seriously believed in the existence of magic, so, logically, your people would have to have been hidden for at least that long. I mean, if wizards have their own schools and governments, then we're talking about an entirely hidden _civilisation!_"

"Our people have, indeed, been hidden from the Muggle world for centuries," said Dumbledore. "The International Statute of Secrecy was passed in response to the so-called 'witch trials' in Salem, Massachusetts. Now, I'm sure my students would prefer that I not give a history lecture before the start of term, so I will refrain from going into detail at this time. As for _how_ the wizarding world has remained hidden, there are a number of different techniques that are commonly used. For example, the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron is protected by a charm that prevents Muggles from noticing it. It does not, strictly speaking, render the entrance invisible; rather, it simply persuades Muggles on a subconscious level that there's nothing there to see."

"So you're saying it works like the stereotypical British policeman," said Wendy. "You know, 'Nothing to see here, move along.'"

Dumbledore smiled. "Precisely, my dear."

"So _that's_ how it works!" exclaimed Phoebe. "I detected the presence of illusion magic surrounding that entrance, but I'm afraid I'm not any better at that than I am at necromancy. An illusion that only affects non-spellcasters; that is _brilliant!_ Oh, Zeck is going to be absolutely _thrilled_ when he finds out about this!"

"Excuse me," said Harry, "but is 'Zeck' your boss in the Fraternity of Order you were talking about before?"

"Yes, it's short for Zechariah," said Phoebe. "He prefers to be called 'Zeck' rather than using his full name. He specialises in illusion magic, as do many other gnome wizards."

"I take it a 'gnome' in your world isn't the same as one of our gnomes either?" said Harry.

"Yeah, the gnomes _we_ have are little pests that live in our garden," said Ron.

"Wait a minute," said Wendy. "Are you saying _garden _gnomes are real?" She chuckled nervously. "I'm beginning to wonder if there's anything that _isn't_ real anymore!"

Harry smiled. "Honest politicians?"

Wendy laughed. "Yeah, I think that would be considered a _miracle._"

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Truly, your faith in the system you represent is touching; my husband would be proud." She smiled. "And, speaking of systems, I'm sure we'd all like to know more about this hidden magical government; however, I think that so complex a topic should be reserved for the meeting tonight. Professor, at what time should we return to the flat?"

"Oh, I'd say around half past six," said Dumbledore.

Phoebe nodded. "Wendy, I know you've got a lot of questions about these wizards, and, believe me, Celeste and I have even more. After we return from Sigil, Professor Dumbledore will be holding a meeting at his school, where, hopefully, we will all be able to at least begin to have our questions answered. Since you've already come this far with us, I think it's only fair to invite you to the meeting. That is, if you have no objections, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Not at all. In fact, I think that a Muggle perspective on this matter is exactly what we need right now."

Phoebe clapped her hands. "Great! Wendy, we should be back at precisely 6:30 P.M. Unless, of course, you'd care to accompany us?"

Wendy shook her head. "I'm sorry, Phoebe; I know you really want to show me. It's just… I'm just not ready to do that yet. Maybe later, once I manage to come to terms with all this magical madness."

"I understand. Oh, and that reminds me. While we're in Sigil, I'll see about arranging a guard for you here. Now that we've confirmed the presence of hostiles, I believe it would be prudent to install security on this side of the portal as well."

Wendy frowned. "What kind of security?"

"One or two armed guards, some protective runes, maybe a trap that conjures a cloud of nauseating gas. I mean, it wouldn't hold off a group of hostile wizards for long, but it should slow them down long enough for you to escape."

"_Escape?"_ Wendy threw up her hands in exasperation. "'Don't _worry,_' she says. Of _course_ not! What's there to worry about except a room full of nauseating gas so that hostile _wizards_ don't kill me in my _sleep?_"

"Come on, Wendy, have a little faith in us," said Celeste. "You don't think our homes in Sigil are unprotected, do you? Skyleaf Security is one of the best companies in the business, and they've defended their clients against threats a lot worse than a bunch of black-robed berks. These wizards may have magic, but they're still made of flesh and blood, and a sharp blade is always the best defense against _that._"

"I would concur with Ms. Aspen on that score," said Dumbledore. "Most wizards would be ill-prepared to defend themselves against a physical attack, especially in close quarters such as this. As for magical protection, I'm afraid my options would be rather limited in a Muggle flat, as I would have to avoid drawing the attention of the Ministry. However, I'm sure that between myself, my fellow professors, and your otherworldly friends, we can come up with a comprehensive plan to insure your safety."

"And, at this meeting of yours," said Wendy, "will you be explaining just _who_ I need protection from and _why?_"

"Of course, my dear," said Dumbledore. His expression became serious. "I will not lie; we are all living in dangerous times right now, both wizards and Muggles alike. However, the best protection that any of us can have is not ignorance of the danger, but knowledge. You have been granted a unique opportunity to know things about my kind that most of your people will never be aware of. Indeed, we have both been granted an even greater opportunity to know the previously unimagined secrets of worlds beyond our own."

He reached out and gently grasped Wendy's hands. "Do not think of your new knowledge as a source of confusion and fear; this is only because your knowledge is, as yet, incomplete. Trust in your friends and know that they — and I — will do our best to grant you the fullness of our knowledge."

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled. "After that, I've no doubt you'll be feeling much better."

Wendy took a deep breath and gave Dumbledore a weak smile. "Thank you, Professor. You're right; it's better to know the truth. I mean, those evil wizards would still be out there even if I didn't _know_ they were. At least now, I have a chance to do something about them."

"Oh, we'll _do_ something about them, all right," declared Celeste. "But, you know what? I think I'll stay here with you until the others get back. There's nothing I need right now in Sigil anyway, and it wouldn't be fair to just leave you here by yourself while you're still so worried."

"Thanks, Celeste," said Wendy. "You're a true friend."

Celeste grinned. "Hey, what are friends for if not to be loyal?"

"So, how _did_ you get mixed up in all this, anyway?" asked Ginny. "Did someone just show up one day out of the blue and say, 'Hello, I'm from another plane of existence'?"

Wendy laughed. "Just about. I was at the office one day getting ready to go to lunch, when the receptionist says there's someone there to see me. Of course, he didn't ask for me by name; he told the receptionist he was looking for someone fairly young who hadn't been in the business long, but who displayed a great deal of talent and potential. I suppose I should be flattered that she thought of me; but, now, I don't know whether I got the greatest stroke of luck in the world or the worst."

She sighed. "Anyway, this guy comes in who looks like an ordinary elderly man in a suit. He says his name is Zechariah Skyleaf and he represents an organization called the Fraternity of Order that wants to open an office here in London. He offered to take me out to lunch so we could discuss the services he'd need from me. I said, sure, that would be fine, and, then, he asked me to hold his hand. He said, 'I know it sounds strange, but don't worry; I'll explain everything in a moment.' Well, as soon as I did, he said some kind of magic word, and, then, _boom! _I found myself floating in midair above Big Ben!"

She chuckled. "Well, I screamed for about half a minute straight, then spent another minute shouting, 'Oh God oh God oh _God!_' After that, I finally realized that I was _not_ plummeting to my death, at which point Zeck started explaining, well, _everything. _He told me he had come here on a mission of exploration to study this world's culture, technology, government, and so on. He also told me he was a gnome wizard from another plane of existence, but, of course, you already knew that."

Harry laughed. "Doesn't everybody? But why did he need to hire a solicitor? Was there some sort of legal work he needed you to do?"

"Well, at first, he just needed me to help him get money," said Wendy. "He brought me one-pound bars of gold that were worth about £4,000 each. He also had some gemstones that, quite frankly, were bigger than anything ever seen on this planet. I swear, they made the Crown Jewels look like _trinkets._ I advised him to stick with one or two carat stones, of which he had a whole _bag_ full. We're talking diamonds, emeralds, rubies, you name it; and, according to the gem dealers, all of them were exquisitely cut and had nearly perfect clarity."

She paused. "Now, there's only so much of that stuff you can sell before you start to attract some serious attention; still, we were able to get quite a bit of cash to start with. We've even got a financial advisor helping us with investments. Naturally, he has no idea who and what Zeck is, and I'm sure you'd all agree that we should keep it that way."

"Quite so," said Dumbledore. "In the future, however, I would recommend that Mr. Skyleaf get in touch with Gringotts, the wizarding bank. They are far better equipped to handle large quantities of gold and silver than a Muggle bank would be, and the goblins of Gringotts are well-known for their confidentiality."

"Did you say _goblins?_" said Celeste. "How in all the planes can you trust those _creatures_ with your _money?_ Most goblins can't even _read;_ not to mention that they're mortal enemies of gnomes!"

"Celeste, remember, our words do not always mean the same thing as theirs," said Phoebe. "If 'elf' and 'gnome' have different meanings here, then it is logical to assume that 'goblin' does as well."

"Well, I _suppose,_" said Celeste dubiously, "but I find it hard to believe that _anything_ called a 'goblin' can be trusted."

"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," said Phoebe.

Harry turned back to Wendy. "Is that all Zeck needed you to do? Exchange money?"

"Not quite," said Wendy. "He also needed me to rent this flat in my name, seeing as how he doesn't have a legal identity in this world. I figured that, since I was renting it anyway, I might as well move in here. I wasn't sure if that would work with Phoebe and Celeste using the portal every day, but it's a two-bedroom flat, and the portal's in the doorway to the master bedroom, so I just use the other bedroom instead."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," said Hermione, "but was there anyone living here before Zeck arrived?"

Wendy smiled. "Well, that's a funny story, actually. There was a young couple living here who were expecting their first child. There was also another flat available in this building with the same size and layout as this one. So, one day, the two of them went to work, and when they got home, their entire flat was empty! The only thing left was a note which read, 'Your belongings are in 402; I apologise for the inconvenience.' Of course, they immediately called the police, and when they went up to #402, guess what they found?"

"All their stuff was there," replied Harry.

"Not only was it all there, it was arranged exactly as it was," said Wendy. "They also found an envelope marked as a gift containing five thousand pounds in cash."

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Ron. "Zeck did all that himself?"

"Well, obviously, I helped him get the _money,_" said Wendy. "He didn't tell me what it was _for_ until I saw the report on the news. Of course, _then,_ he made me run over here right away and say, 'Oh, I just saw this amusing report on the telly, and, since I was looking for a flat already, I thought I'd take a look at this one.' So, as soon as the police took off the crime scene tape, I moved in."

She chuckled. "And you know what? This is actually nicer than the flat I used to have, and it's even closer to where I work. Not to mention Zeck pays the rent for me as a 'business expense.'" She sighed. "I suppose there are _some_ benefits to having a gnome as a client. I just hope that tomorrow, I'll still be around to enjoy them."

Tonks laughed. "Oh, my God! That incident was actually referred to the Ministry as a possible misuse of magic against Muggles! They didn't have anyone they could spare to investigate, so it just sort of fell through the cracks. I can't believe it; this whole thing was right under our noses all along!"

"Now, just a minute here," said Hermione. "Phoebe, you said that Zeck was your superior in the Fraternity of Order, right? Didn't you also say that Guvners are not allowed to break any laws?"

Phoebe nodded. "That's correct."

"Well, then, how could he possibly get _away_ with something like that? He broke into this flat, broke into _another _flat, and then moved all of the residents' stuff without their permission! On what plane of existence is that _not_ considered breaking the law?"

"Well, the Fraternity of Order has always known that our strict adherence to the law could be used against us," said Phoebe. "For example, a kingdom could pass a law forbidding all Guvners from entering, which would be quite a problem if we wanted to gather information about that kingdom. So, our solution to such legal conundrums is an official document called a Writ of Exemption. It allows a Guvner on a special mission like this one to violate local laws if it is necessary and proper for the successful completion of the mission. However, it is _not_ a licence for the Guvner to do whatever she pleases."

"First of all, a Writ of Exemption must be approved by the factol; that is, the overall leader of the faction. Second, the Guvner must fully document any known violations of the law along with the reasons the violations were necessary. Third, only Guvners of Bureau Chief rank are permitted to hold such a writ. That's why I'm an Assistant Bureau Chief now; Zeck had to get me promoted in order to put me in charge of the mission."

Wendy smiled. "You know, I always love hearing about stuff like this. It's comforting to know that even on other planes of existence, you still need to deal with regulations and forms and government approvals just like we do here."

"Oh, _believe_ me; wizards have to deal with that too," said Tonks. "The Ministry has all _sorts_ of departments and regulations, and the Auror Office always has plenty of forms to fill out."

"Now, you see, that is what connects our three cultures together," said Phoebe. "Despite our differences, we are all united by the burden of bureaucracy."

Phoebe, Tonks, and Wendy laughed, while Hermione looked as if she couldn't decide whether to smile or frown. "Well, all right; I can see where something like that might be useful, and I appreciate the fact that there are precautions against abuse. But why on Earth was it necessary to break in? Couldn't Zeck have just paid the £5,000 to the couple and _asked_ them to move?"

"If he had," said Phoebe, "the logical question would have been, 'Why do you want _this_ flat so badly? Why not just take the one that's available?' If he had insisted that _only_ this flat would do, it would have made any reasonable person very suspicious. They probably would have taken the money, then notified the police anyway. By doing it the way he did, Zeck diverted everyone's attention; as far as they know, this was just some sort of bizarre practical joke."

"You know, I actually talked to those people one day," said Wendy. "It started out pretty awkward, with 'Hey! I moved into your old flat; yes, _that_ one.' They were shocked by it at first, and then, confused; but, after a while, they just laughed it off as one of those weird things that just _happen._ Once they were sure that nothing had been stolen, it was a bit hard for them to hold a grudge against someone who gave them £5,000 at a time when they really needed money for the baby. In fact, they even got paid to appear on a talk show! I mean, it's not like they were traumatised for life — as opposed to _me,_ for example."

"Wendy, I deeply apologise for all the stress you've experienced," replied Phoebe. "We came here to make friends; we never wanted to be harbingers of doom."

"Phoebe, you don't need to apologise," said Wendy. "You, Celeste, and Zeck _are_ my friends — and is 'harbinger' even a _word?_"

Phoebe laughed. "Oh, _believe_ me; it's a word that my friends and I know _very_ well. Not too long ago, we were all involved in an incident at a place in Sigil called Harbinger House. It was… well, if you think what's happened _today_ has been strange, you couldn't even _begin_ to imagine how strange _that_ was."

Celeste chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, that was strange by the standards of things that are strange by _Sigil's_ standards. By Earth standards, I think that would be something like strange to the fourth power."

Wendy shook her head and smiled. "It would probably be better if you didn't elaborate on that. My brain is still having trouble with the _first_ power of strange."

"Well, we'll do our best to get you up to at least strange squared," said Phoebe. "In the meantime, we'll be escorting our magical friends there today."

She snapped her fingers. "Oh! And I almost forgot. Hermione, if you would please contact your parents; you still need their permission before we may depart."

"Oh, right! Of course." Hermione reached for the telephone, then paused. "Wait; how exactly should I explain this? I know it's supposed to be an educational trip for Hogwarts, but what should I say if my parents want details?"

"Just leave it to me, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "As head of the Order of the Phoenix, I'm quite good at cover stories." He turned to Phoebe. "I'll explain about the Order at our meeting tonight."

"I look forward to it, Professor," she replied.

Hermione picked up the telephone receiver, dialed a number, then waited. "Hello, Mum?... Oh, I'm fine; everything's going well. In fact, I've just been offered the opportunity to go on a special day trip with Professor Dumbledore from Hogwarts… Well, it's a special opportunity he's only offering to a select group of students, but, you see, he needs your permission before I can go… Actually, the Professor is here right now; he'll be able to explain the particulars better than I can… Just a moment, let me put him on the line…"

Hermione handed Dumbledore the receiver. "Good afternoon; am I speaking to Mrs. Frances Granger?... Yes, this is Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. I would like to ask your permission for your daughter to accompany me on a short educational outing this afternoon… A small group of students and I will be investigating a new method of magical transportation… I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose its exact location; you see, some magical sites are protected by enchantments that prevent them from being located on maps… Oh, yes, I assure you that the doorway to the site is located right here in England…"

"I do apologise about the short notice, but, you see, opportunities like these are quite rare and must be seized quickly before they slip away. There are various reasons for this, but I'll not bore you with a lot of incomprehensible magical jargon… Oh, yes; I've been assured of our safety by an expert in the field who has personally used this method of transport many times… We'll be returning this evening at half past six, at which time we shall discuss our findings back at Hogwarts… Yes, of course; I shall be accompanying my students at all times… Yes, I'm sure Hermione will be happy to tell you all about it later…"

"Just to confirm, I do have your permission, then?... Excellent! I'm sure your daughter will be very grateful for this opportunity… Well, we are on a bit of a schedule, so I'm afraid we must be going now, but, not to worry; I'll have Hermione send you an owl the moment she returns… Ha, ha, yes, I'm afraid Hogwarts is still a bit behind the times by Muggle standards… It's been wonderful speaking to you, and I hope we shall have the opportunity to do so again soon… Good day, Mrs. Granger."

Dumbledore hung up the phone and smiled. "We now have permission for Miss Granger to accompany us."

"Excellent!" said Phoebe. "Is everyone ready to go, then?" Harry and the others said yes. "Well, then, let us be off! Right this way."

Phoebe opened the living room door, revealing another open door directly across the entrance hall. Harry could immediately tell that this was no ordinary doorway; he frowned in confusion and turned to Phoebe.

"Excuse me, but is that doorway supposed to be glowing like that?"

"You can see that?" said Phoebe. "Now, _that's_ a surprise. Can any of the rest of you see the glow?" The others shook their heads. "What about you, Professor?"

"I'm afraid I can't," replied Dumbledore. "To my eyes, it appears to be a perfectly ordinary doorway."

"And that's exactly what I'd expect," said Phoebe. "You see, beings who originate from planes other than this one can see a dim glow around the outline of a portal; such beings are referred to as 'planars.' Beings from the Material Plane such as yourselves generally cannot see the glow. Now, it's not _unheard_ of for a prime to be able to see it, but such individuals are quite rare. Usually, one of their ancestors was a planar; though, on this world, that would be extremely unlikely."

"Well, the Potters were an old pureblood wizarding family, so they always kept accurate records of their family tree," said Harry. "I think my father would have known if he was descended from a… planar. My mum was Muggle-born, which means that both of her parents were Muggles, so I don't really know much about my ancestors on her side."

He laughed. "Oh, my God; can you imagine what Aunt Petunia would do if she saw a glowing doorway that no one else could see?She'd think she was mad; she'd probably _go_ mad trying to deny it."

Phoebe frowned. "Hmmm… that would make it difficult to test her ethically." She smiled at Harry. "In any case, Harry, I don't think you have anything to worry about; in fact, I'm sure you'll find that ability very useful in Sigil."

Ron shook his head. "I can't believe it, mate! Even when it comes to _portals,_ you're special!"

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Ron," said Celeste, "I can't see the portal glow either. I was born on another world on _this_ plane called Ortho, so I'm just as much a prime as you."

"In case you're wondering, this plane was once called the _Prime _Material Plane," said Phoebe, "but most scholars just call it the Material Plane now. The name for its inhabitants, however, has persisted, since there really isn't any better word to replace it."

"Come on, Phoebe!" said Tonks. "Enough explanations! Let's just go through the bleedin' thing already!"

Phoebe laughed. "Oh, all right. Then I'll explain as we go." She reached into her backpack and pulled out a small bag, then removed a few coins from it and put the bag away.

"To activate the portal, all you need to do is toss one of these coins through the doorway — like this."

As Phoebe flicked a coin at the doorway, there was a _whooshing_ sound about as loud as a washing machine on the spin cycle. The space inside the doorway began to glow with a swirling pattern of white light that clearly illuminated everyone standing in front of it. After about eight seconds, the light faded away and the whooshing stopped; to Harry, the doorway returned to its pale blue outline.

Celeste smiled. "I hope you all saw _that _glow, at least."

"Extraordinary!" said Dumbledore. "Absolutely astounding! In all my years, I've never seen anything like it! Truly, this will be a voyage of discovery for all of us."

"Well, I hope everyone is ready, because this is it," said Phoebe. She handed some coins to Tonks. "Now, I'm going to give you two of these in case everyone can't get through in one go. I'll go through first and have security stand down on the other side. Wait one minute, then follow me through. All right?"

"Wait!" said Ron. "What happens if the portal closes before you're all the way through? Will it cut you in half or something?"

Phoebe laughed. "I'm sorry, Ron; that's just a common misconception for a lot of first-time visitors to Sigil. If you tried to go through a portal too late, you'd just step through the physical doorway, which, in this case, would mean you'd end up in the master bedroom. If you're already more than halfway through, the portal will basically shove you the rest of the way. You might trip and fall, but you will not be bisected."

She smiled. "Now, come on, cutters! The City of Doors awaits! And it's going to wait for exactly one minute, starting now." Phoebe tossed a coin through the doorway, stepped through the portal, and vanished.

"Now, let's all form an orderly queue," said Dumbledore. "Nymphadora, if you would please take the lead, and if you'll pass me one of those coins, I'll go through last."

As Harry took his place behind Tonks, he turned and smiled nervously at Ron, who stood behind him. "This feels like the first time I ran through the barrier onto Platform 9 ¾."

Ron returned his smile. "I just hope it's not like the time Dobby sealed it."

"Well, I hope everybody has fun," said Celeste. "Just don't do anything illegal and you'll be fine. Not that you have to worry about that with Phoebe around, of course. Just remember: the best way to stay out of trouble anywhere in the planes is to use common sense."

Dumbledore glanced at his pocket watch. "We have twenty seconds left, everyone, so let's get ready. Nymphadora, please prepare to toss your coin, in… 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… _now!_"

The portal opened with the same display of light and sound as before; as soon as Tonks stepped through, Harry followed her. He closed his eyes to avoid being dazzled by the portal's light and kept moving until he ran into what felt like metal bars. As he opened his eyes, he saw that this was, indeed, the case; he and the others were inside a grid-like metal cage. Harry suddenly felt as if everything around him had gone silent and dark, even though he could still actually see and hear everything clearly. It was as though he was surrounded by a feeling of _emptiness_ unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He glanced back at the portal; on this side, it was a wooden frame that looked as if it had been cut away from an actual doorway. As the bright light subsided, Harry could see that the frame was also outlined by the dim blue glow.

Four tiny men about the size of Professor Flitwick stood next to the cage, two on the left and two on the right. Each one wore a chainmail shirt with a surcoat, a metal helmet, sturdy leather trousers, and leather boots. Their surcoats each bore a coat of arms with a sword and a gun crossed behind a white cloud and a green leaf. The men were armed with some kind of muskets or rifles, though they were not pointing them at Harry or his friends.

In front of the cage stood Phoebe; to her left was a man with short, jet-black hair and blue eyes. He wore a shiny chainmail shirt topped with a brown leather waistcoat, as well as black leather trousers, black boots with gold trim, and a dark purple cloak. On his brow, he wore a silver headband much like Celeste's; on his belt, he carried a whip on his left side and a rapier on his right. Though Harry was certainly no expert on swords and armor, he could tell the man's gear was obviously of the highest quality; his overall appearance seemed both practical and highly fashionable. In his left hand, the man held a lit pipe; he put it to his lips, then slowly exhaled a puff of smoke.

To Phoebe's right stood another man with dark skin, shoulder-length black hair, a short beard with a moustache, and green eyes that were even brighter than Harry's. He was somewhat more muscular than the first man and wore a red tunic, black leather trousers, thigh-high brown leather boots with buckles, and a dark red cloak. He, too, had a headband like James's. A stylized flame pendant carved from some type of red gemstone hung from a silver chain around his neck. Harry thought the man had a sort of calming presence about him. It reminded Harry of how he felt around Luna Lovegood; though, thankfully, the man displayed no sign of the Ravenclaw girl's dottiness.

As Harry glanced back at Phoebe, she smiled and extended her arms in a gesture of welcome.

"Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Cage!" She chuckled. "You see, 'the Cage' is also another nickname for Sigil, so I thought that would be an appropriate remark."

The man on the left rolled his eyes. "Phoebe, it's not funny if you have to _explain_ it."

"I know; I just couldn't resist."

The man sighed, then turned to Harry and the others. "Well, now that you all understand the reference, I shall release you from _this_ cage so that you may enter another." He opened the door and stood aside, gesturing for the group to leave.

As Harry stepped out of the cage, the feeling of emptiness suddenly vanished. He frowned in confusion as he glanced at the others; their expressions seemed to indicate that they'd felt the same thing. He shook his head, then turned back to Phoebe, who gestured at the man on her left.

"Let me introduce you all to my husband, James Black." She gestured to her right. "This fine gentleman is Zanton of the Sacred Flame. The final member of our party should be here shortly; she was upstairs when I — ah, _there_ she is."

Harry turned to see a small figure running towards him. Her light brown hair was tied in pigtails, giving her a somewhat childlike appearance, though, despite her short stature, she was obviously an adult. She wore a suit made entirely of black leather, including her boots and gloves; she also wore a dark gray vest festooned with pockets. Several pouches and a short blade hung from her belt, though her main weapon appeared to be the rifle slung over her shoulder. A proportionately-sized backpack similar to Phoebe's and a dark gray cloak completed her outfit; unlike her companions, she did not have a headband. Once she reached the group and stopped running, Harry could see that the young woman had blue eyes, a prominent nose, and slightly pointed ears; as he glanced back and forth at the guards, he realized that their facial features were similar.

The woman glared at Phoebe and put her hands on her hips. "Phoebe, what in the Nine Hells is going _on_ here? We get this letter saying there's an emergency situation and we need to come through the portal right away, so we all drag ourselves out of bed and get ready. And _then,_ all of a sudden, you show up with _this_ lot, grinning like you just got yourself another promotion! And where's Celeste?"

Phoebe nodded. "In reverse order: Celeste is on the other side of the portal looking after our solicitor. My discovery of 'this lot' proves that I am worthy of my recent promotion. There _was_ an emergency situation, but it has since been resolved. And, finally… getting angry."

The woman blinked in confusion. "Wait, _what?_"

"Well, I'm sure that _someone_ in the Nine Hells is getting angry right now, and since you're also getting angry _here…_"

"Great; now I won't be able to use that expression for a _month_ without your hyper-logic getting in the way." The woman sighed. "All right. Could you please explain what in the _warehouse_ is going on?"

"Gladly." Phoebe smiled. "But, first, the introductions. This is my good friend Lessia Skyleaf, who is the granddaughter of my superior, Zechariah. I ask that you forgive her behaviour this morning, as she has most likely not had any sleep at all."

Lessia yawned. "Yeah, I was just about to go to bed when I got your false alarm. I was out all night testing a prospective client's security measures. They were terrible, as usual, and I believe I made that clear, so we should be seeing him in the office this morning."

She snapped her fingers. "Oh, right; that reminds me." She took a bulging sack out of her backpack. "Hey, Kev, could you bring these to the office for me? They're from that job I did last night."

One of the guards approached her and smiled. "Another satisfied customer?"

"Not yet, but they always are."

The guard laughed. "Too right, miss." He accepted the sack from Lessia and left.

"Now, then," said Phoebe, "I am pleased to announce that my mission to find spellcasters on Earth has been an unqualified success! It is my great honour to present to you Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I would also like to present his students, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Last, but certainly not least, I present Auror Nymphadora Tonks; 'Auror' is her title as a magical law enforcement officer."

"It is indeed an honour to meet you all," said James. He bowed. "James Black, at your service."

Tonks grinned. "So you're the James that Phoebe and Celeste have been telling us so much about."

"Talking about me behind my back? Well, really!" James assumed an expression of mock indignation. "I deeply apologise, Lady Nymphadora, that you were compelled to listen to such slander."

Tonks laughed. "Mr. Black, would you mind just calling me 'Tonks?' I'm afraid I don't like my first name."

"Truly?" said James in surprise. "I find it quite melodious."

"Well…" Tonks blushed. "I mean, you know what it sounds like. Every time people hear my name, they always think of vulgar jokes."

"Well, that's not the thought that enters _my_ mind," said James. "For me, your name calls forth the image of a young wood nymph bathing in a secluded pool in the forest." He gently grasped Tonks's hand. "The radiance of the full moon shining down upon her, causing the beads of pure spring water on her skin to glisten in the night like stars."

Tonks's blush deepened and her hair turned bright red. "Er…" She shook her head. "H-Hey, wait a minute! You can't talk like that when your wife is standing right there!"

James smiled. "I assure you, my lady, that I do not entertain any dishonourable intentions. I merely seek to lift your spirits and brighten your day."

Phoebe laughed. "Don't mind him, Tonks. He's just trying to overwhelm you with the force of his personality."

Tonks took a deep breath. "Well, I'd say he certainly has!" She turned back to James. "I suppose you do this with all the girls?"

"Well, I try, but I fear that far too few of them provide me with such useful material to work with."

"All right, all right," interrupted Lessia. "Enough of that wash." She turned to Harry's group. "I'm Lessia Skyleaf, and I'm proud to welcome you all to the Skyleaf Security warehouse in Sigil!"

She gestured at the huge stacks of crates around her. "Our company provides complete security solutions for businesses, private residences, trade caravans, and more! Whether you're looking for guards, locks, or traps both magical and mundane, _'if it's not Skyleaf, it's not secure.'"_

Lessia smiled. "For example: Last night, I paid a visit to a prospective client whose security was being handled by one of our _competitors_ — that is, if you could even _call_ them that." She chuckled. "After he picks up his gem collection from our office, I think he'll be inclined to agree."

"Are you saying that bag was full of _stolen gems?_" said Hermione.

"Of course not," said Lessia. "I'm just keeping them safe so no one _else_ can steal them. I mean, his front door had all these impressive-looking locks, but his _cellar_ door was virtually unprotected!" She sighed. "Some days it's just too easy. I'm almost ashamed to collect my pay."

Phoebe raised her eyebrows. "_Almost?_"

Lessia shrugged. "How else am I going to afford to go shopping? It's not like I can _keep_ the gems, you know."

"Am I to understand that your job is to infiltrate the homes of prospective clients in order to identify the gaps in their existing security measures?" said Dumbledore.

"Exactly," said Lessia. She glanced at Tonks. "And don't worry; it's all perfectly legal. We always get written permission from the client in advance. They always think it won't be a fair test if they know when we're coming. Of course, nine times out of ten, the test isn't fair for _them._" She yawned.

"You know, you don't have to stay if you're too tired," said Phoebe. She gestured at James and Zanton. "The three of us are perfectly capable of showing our guests some of the highlights of Sigil."

"Well, the _first_ place you've got to show them is the Great Bazaar," replied Lessia, "and there's no way I'm letting you do _that_ without me." She grinned at Harry. "I mean, it's _only_ the best place for shopping in _existence!_ And, if you go there with an Indep like me, you can get a discount on almost anything they sell!"

She grinned. "_Especially _since Celeste isn't here. The Indeps aren't too fond of the Harmonium."

"Excuse me," asked Harry, "but who are the Indeps?"

Lessia turned to Phoebe. "You didn't explain the factions to them yet?"

"We told them about the Fraternity of Order and the Harmonium," replied Phoebe, "but we didn't get a chance yet to discuss the others."

"Ah," said James. "Well, if you're going to spend any time at all in Sigil, you'll need to know about the factions. But there's no sense in us standing around here staring at crates while we talk. We can discuss these matters on our way to the Great Bazaar."

Phoebe nodded. "Well, before we go, I need to go upstairs and sign the forms to have a guard stationed on the other side of the portal. That should give you a few minutes to get acquainted, and, then, we'll be on our way. If you'll excuse me."

As Phoebe walked away, Harry turned to Lessia. "I hope you'll forgive me for asking this, but are you a _gnome?_"

"Well, of course," said Lessia. "Does that mean you don't have gnomes on your world?"

"Well, sort of," replied Harry. "We have creatures _called _gnomes, but, apart from being smaller than humans, they really don't look anything like you."

"You mean they're not as _good-looking_ as me." Lessia smiled. "Now, _there's_ a thought. When I go through that portal, that means I'll be the best-looking gnome on Earth!"

She twirled her pigtails with her fingers and smiled seductively. "What do _you_ think, Ronald?"

Ron blushed and glanced nervously at Hermione. "Er…"

"I think you shouldn't be robbing the cradle," interrupted Zanton.

Lessia punched him lightly in the side. "Relax; I was only joking!" She glanced back at Ron. "Though I wouldn't mind knowing if he has any older brothers."

"We've got _five,_ actually," said Ginny with a smile. "And two of them are identical _twins._"

"_Ooooh!"_ Lessia rubbed her hands together. "I like this world of yours already."

Zanton raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you supposed to be tired?"

"Well, I can't sleep _now;_ I'd miss out on all the fun!"

James patted Lessia on the head, then turned to Dumbledore. "Well, Professor, I must say, I'm very interested in learning more about your world. Phoebe tells me your technology is much more advanced than ours."

"I'm afraid we wouldn't be able to provide you with much information on that subject," said Dumbledore. "The wizarding world tends to use very little in the way of Muggle technology; 'Muggle' being a term we use for those without magic."

"I see," said James. "The term 'wizarding world' would imply that there are spellcasters such as yourself hidden throughout the lands of Earth."

Dumbledore nodded. "Quite so. We'll be holding a meeting at my school this evening, during which my colleagues and I will do our best to explain the nature of our society. It is my hope that this will be the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship between our peoples."

James smiled. "My thoughts exactly, Professor. It's good to know that Phoebe has managed to find new friends on this new world."

"I'm afraid not all the wizards your wife encountered today were friendly," said Dumbledore. "She and Celeste managed to thwart an attack by two members of an evil magical organization known as the Death Eaters. They were subdued and turned over to Auror Tonks here to be taken into custody; however, I'm afraid that our magical government is unlikely to be able to contain them for long."

"Well, of course you can't trust the _government_ to handle such matters." James inhaled from his pipe. "I've been trying to convince the citizens of Sigil of that for _years._"

Tonks frowned. "You're not at all worried that your wife was _attacked?_"

"Well, that's why she and Celeste went together," replied James. "Between the two of them, they're quite capable of handling most types of threats."

"We would have gone with them," said Lessia, "but it's a Fraternity of Order mission, and none of the rest of us are Guvners. Too many bureaucratic obstacles for Grandfather to get permission. But now that Phoebe's gotten herself into trouble, she can call in emergency reinforcements." She grinned. "In other words, it's a legal loophole big enough to hold all of us."

"I can tell from the disbelieving expressions on your faces that you think we are all rather barmy," said Zanton. "It's not that we don't care about our friends being in danger; it is just that we have all faced many dangers and have long since become accustomed to them."

"Yeah, Phoebe said you'd all been involved in some very strange things," said Tonks, "especially at a place called… Harbinger House?"

Zanton's grin seemed to light up the room. "Ah, yes. An event of enormous significance to my faction."

"What exactly _are_ these factions, anyway?" asked Hermione. "Are they different parts of Sigil's government?"

"Certainly not _all_ of them," said James with a smile. "A faction is a group of like-minded individuals who are often described as 'philosophers with clubs.' Each of Sigil's fifteen factions adheres to a certain philosophy or system of beliefs. Some factions, like the Fraternity of Order, have a philosophy that is useful to the government; others, such as my own, have a rather… _different_ view. But no matter what philosophy a faction believes in, the goal of _every_ faction is to convince the rest of the multiverse that their philosophy is _right._"

"'Multiverse' would mean 'multiple universes,' correct?" said Hermione. "In other words, all the planes of existence put together?"

"Precisely, my dear!" replied James. "I can see that you and my wife will be very good friends. Now, the most important thing to know about factions is that their power is based on belief. Not just political and economic power, although they are, of course, important; but the collective strength of a faction's beliefs also grants its members the power to impose those beliefs on reality."

Harry frowned in confusion. "How do you mean?"

"Well, take Phoebe, for example. Her faction believes that everything in the multiverse is governed by laws, and, thus, nothing is ever truly random. This belief gives her a limited power to, shall we say, 'bend' the laws of probability in her favour. Now, I realize this is a bit of an abstract concept, so why don't I give you a little illustration?"

James made a strange gesture and spoke a few words; an translucent image of Phoebe wearing a white robe appeared along with the image of a scruffy-looking man aiming a gun at her.

"Let's say some thug pulls out a pistol and attempts to shoot my beloved wife." The illusory gun fired a bullet in slow motion, tracing a red line through the air towards the image of Phoebe. The image attempted to move out of the way, but was instead struck in the shoulder; after that, the images froze in place.

"As you can see, the shot did not hit her straight on, instead merely grazing her in the shoulder. Most people would consider this to be the result of luck; after all, it's only a matter of inches between a hit and a miss. Phoebe, or another Guvner with the proper training, could increase the probability that the shooter would miss, potentially converting this — "

The images resumed their original positions with the red line remaining. The man fired again, this time with his bullet tracing out a green line at a slight angle to the red one. While the red line still came in contact with Phoebe's shoulder, the bullet and the green line instead barely missed her.

" — into this." James froze the images again. "Now, it's important to note that Phoebe is not using any sort of magic here to physically push the bullet out of the way. It doesn't matter whether the attacker is using a gun, a bow, a sword, or a spell. Any form of attack that has a chance to miss can have that chance increased."

The images of the man and Phoebe switched places, with Phoebe holding the gun and the red and green lines remaining. "The same principle can apply in the other direction, allowing Phoebe to increase her own chance to hit."

The bullet moved slowly along the green line, then stopped just short of the man. James reached out, plucked the bullet off the green line, then held it in the path of the red line. Instead of letting go, he smiled evilly, then suddenly moved the bullet directly in front of the man's groin and stepped back. The man fell to the ground screaming in pain, while Phoebe smiled and blew the smoke off her gun barrel.

"Well, all right, I admit that last bit wasn't exactly realistic, but I think you get the point." James waved his hand and the images vanished.

Ron stared at the space where the images were with an expression of shock on his face. "Bloody hell!" He turned to James. "Does that mean _all_ faction members can do things like that?"

"Each faction can do a _different_ thing that is related to its philosophy," said James. "These abilities are generally not very powerful, though they can often do things that would be difficult to accomplish by other means. But don't get the idea that you can pick a faction to join solely based on its abilities; you have to believe in what the _faction_ believes for it to work. This is very important; in fact, I cannot emphasize this enough. If you only learn _one thing_ out here on the planes, it should be that _power comes from __**belief.**_**"**

He smiled. "Once you understand that, you'll be able to look down on your fellow primes and call _them_ Clueless."

"Now, _wait_ a minute," said Hermione. "That doesn't make any sense! Are you saying that if you just _believe_ something enough, it will come _true?_"

James flinched dramatically. "_Oh!_ Not even _close!_ Missed by a _mile!_" He looked back and forth at the group. "Can anyone else explain why that statement is wrong?"

Harry frowned in concentration. "Well… didn't you say something about the _collective_ belief of a faction?"

James cast another spell, creating the sound of numerous bells and whistles. "_Yes! _We've got a winner here, cutters!" He dismissed the sound effects. "A single person doesn't have enough belief to make a difference, but if thousands believe the same thing together,_ that's_ power. And even then, there are limits on what it can accomplish. Phoebe may be able to make the bullet miss, but she can't make it turn around and go back into the gun."

Hermione shook her head. "I understand what you're saying; it's just that… well, there are a lot of different belief systems on Earth that have thousands or even _millions_ of adherents. How is it that none of them have ever had any such powers?"

"Ah, well; the power of belief is stronger out here on the planes," said James. "Don't ask me why; it's just one of those mysteries of the multiverse. Now, as far as I know, a faction member should be able to _use_ their powers on your world just fine; but, in order to _acquire_ those powers, one must journey elsewhere first."

"It has to do with the divinely morphic properties of the Outer Planes," said Zanton.

"Yes, Zanton; I'm sure that clarified things immensely." James rolled his eyes. "Phoebe may like to explain _how_ everything works to the Nth degree, but, for me, it's usually enough just to know that it _works._"

"Talking about me, are you?"

Harry turned to see Phoebe approaching the group. She was wearing a light gray tunic that laced up in the front, a brown leather skirt that went down to her knees, a pair of thigh-high brown leather boots, and a dark purple cloak. She was still wearing her backpack and her golden headband, but had also added a pair of intricately-crafted golden wristbands. Her belt had several small pouches attached as well as a holster containing her gun.

"In a manner of speaking," said James. "We were discussing the factions and the powers of belief they possess."

"Yes, your husband gave us a most entertaining demonstration of your ability to bend the laws of probability," said Dumbledore.

Phoebe nodded. "Oh, I see."

"_Aaaand_ we're still standing around staring at crates," declared James. "I'm sure you're all very curious about the factions we belong to, but I think we can save that discussion for the Professor's meeting. Right now, we should venture forth onto the streets of the Cage and bask in the dim light of the breaking dawn."

As Phoebe opened her mouth to answer, Zanton interrupted her. "First, I suggest we show our guests a view of the city from the roof. That way, it will be easier for them to see..." He traced a circle in the air with his finger.

"Oh, of course!" Phoebe turned to Dumbledore. "I just realized we haven't actually told you anything about Sigil yet, other than the fact that it has portals to other planes. However, if you'll accompany us to the roof for a moment, you'll be able to see a lot more than a verbal description could tell you."

The group followed Phoebe to a corner of the warehouse where they climbed a spiral staircase made of iron. They passed through a smaller upper level of the building before reaching a heavy steel hatch in the ceiling. Phoebe slid back the bars that secured the hatch, then strained to push it open. As the hatch struck the roof with a loud _clang, _Phoebe climbed through the opening and the others followed.

Harry found himself on a gray stone roof about four stories above the ground. The temperature was fairly cool, somewhere around ten degrees, with a light breeze stirring a banner on the roof's edge. There were two gnome guards armed with rifles who acknowledged their presence with a nod. There were also what appeared to be four _cannons, _one on each side of the roof.

As Harry looked down at the streets below, he saw a number of other, similarly shaped buildings nearby. As he continued to look further out, however, he noticed that the streets in the distance appeared to curve _upward. _A second look confirmed that this was, indeed, true; instead of a horizon, Harry saw more buildings and streets extending thousands of feet into the air. He turned around and saw more of the same, though the city appeared to extend much further on that side, perhaps even for miles. As Harry followed the city streets with his gaze, he realized in amazement that the city curved vertically in front of him, then kept going to actually curve _above_ him as well. He turned left and saw the city curving slightly up and to the left in the distance; he turned right and saw it curve slightly down and to the right. He glanced at the others and saw that they were equally astounded at the impossible sight before them; Hermione looked as if her mind simply couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing.

"What… what _is_ this place?" stammered Hermione. "The city… there's more of the city _above_ us!"

Phoebe smiled kindly. "Yes, indeed, Hermione; there is. This is why we wanted to bring you up here to see it; most people find it hard to believe if you simply _tell _them."

"But _how?_ How can the city curve _upward_ like that?"

"That's just the way it is," said James. "Sigil is built on the inside of a vast ring, about twenty miles around, I believe."

"Yes, that's right," said Phoebe, "though its shape is more properly described as a torus. Hermione, are you familiar with that particular geometric object?"

Hermione shook her head as if to clear it. "Y-Yes; it's like the shape of a doughnut or a tyre. And you're saying that's also the shape of the _city?_" She paused. "But… but how does everything stay _up_ there? What about _gravity?_"

"Well, gravity simply points toward the inside of the torus," said Phoebe calmly, as if she'd explained this a hundred times before. "That means that if you were to walk all the way around Sigil, 'down' would always remain under your feet."

"But where _is_ this torus, anyway?" asked Hermione. "Is it just floating in space? What's outside it?"

Zanton smiled. "All of your questions will be answered in time; at least, the ones that _can_ be answered. Truthfully, there is much about Sigil that is unknown even to the wisest of sages. I suspect that will be the hardest thing for your inquisitive mind to accept, that there are some mysteries of the planes that the minds of mortals simply cannot fathom."

"Well, I'm not so sure about _that,_" said Phoebe. "Just because there are questions no one _has_ ever been able to answer doesn't mean that no one _will_ ever be able to do so." She turned to Harry. "I mean, as far as we know, no one from Earth has ever been to Sigil before; yet, here you are now."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Might I venture an opinion somewhere in the middle? There may indeed exist questions whose answers are beyond comprehension; yet, that does not mean that anyone should ever stop _asking_ them."

"I agree completely, Professor," said Zanton. "For only through asking such questions can our minds transcend the limits of mortality."

Lessia frowned. "All right, that's about enough of _that!_ For Powers' sake, are we going to stay up here all day _philosophising,_ or are we going down there to answer the questions that _really_ matter?"

James raised his eyebrows. "Such as?"

"What can we get for breakfast? I'm _starving!_"

Everyone laughed.

"Well, I think that's our cue to get going," said James. "Everyone, just stick close to us and you'll be fine. And, with that, I'd just like to say…" He made a sweeping gesture with his arms. "_Welcome_ to the City of Doors!"

* * *

**James Black  
**Male tiefling bard 10; CG  
Str 10, Dex 17, Con 12, Int 16, Wis 12, Cha 20  
**Selected Items:** _belt of physical might (Dex/Con) +2, headband of alluring charisma +4, +2 glamered mithral chain shirt_

**Lessia Skyleaf  
**Female gnome rogue 10; NG  
Str 10, Dex 22, Con 15, Int 14, Wis 12, Cha 12  
**Selected Items:** _belt of physical might (Dex +4/Con +2), handy haversack, +2 glamered shadow leather armor_

**Zanton of the Sacred Flame  
**Male aasimar oracle 10; NG  
Str 16, Dex 12, Con 14, Int 14, Wis 15, Cha 22  
**Selected Items:** _belt of physical perfection +2, headband of alluring charisma +4, lesser rod of steam_

Oracle is a **Pathfinder **class that casts divine spells like a cleric, but casts spontaneously like a sorcerer.  
A _lesser rod of steam _is a lesser metamagic rod that allows use of the Steam Spell feat from _Genius Guide to Fire Magic.  
_Steam Spells inflict cold damage against creatures with the fire subtype, but inflict fire damage against all other creatures.


	6. Chapter 5: The City Beyond The Gate

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY**  
**A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover**

**This story and all original materials are © 2012 Rick Summon.  
_Harry Potter_ and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.  
_Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, _and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.  
_Pathfinder _and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.**

* * *

Well, here we are in the year **2012.** And, wouldn't you know it — it's _still_ not **The Future.™ **I mean, _seriously;_ just how long do we need to keep waiting here? After all, according to an ancient Mayan prophecy,* this will be the last year before the end of the _world!_

A giant asteroid will cause the Earth's magnetic poles to reverse, creating a massive burst of supercooled air which will freeze all of New York City except for a single father, his estranged teenage daughter, and the family dog.** Our only hope is that dogs can outrun supercooled air just as quickly as they can outrun fireballs. (In **Pathfinder **terms, the dog would need Improved Evasion.)

But let's suppose the dog comes through and saves the day, thus sparing our intrepid protagonists from having to repopulate the world through incest. They would still be stuck in a mundane world in which cars are _not_ nuclear-powered. Did you know that in 1958, the Ford Motor Company actually came up with the idea of a car called the Nucleon? It was supposed to be powered by a small nuclear reactor in the rear; when it ran dry, you'd just take your Nucleon to the dealership and have a new one installed. Just _imagine!_ If that car had actually been built, America would have been free from foreign oil _forever!_

OK, so it might have caused a _few_ little problems if you ever got into a crash. And every car dealership in America would have needed its own nuclear waste dump. And you probably wouldn't have wanted to take long trips with your kids in the back seat. But it would have been a _nuclear-powered __**car!**_ Who _wouldn't_ want to drive one while wearing Gordon Freeman's HEV suit?

But, despite these setbacks, the human race continues to move inexorably towards **The Future.™ **Our children may yet live to see the day when everyone drives a flying car powered by a miniature black hole. They probably wouldn't live to see the _next _day, but, hey — no one ever said **The Future™ **would be _easy._

* * *

_There are worlds beyond the world that you know.  
Other universes, dimensions — the Planes of Existence.  
From the Sevenfold Heavens to the Nine Pits of Hell;  
From the Endless Waters to the Silvery Void;  
From the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits of reality itself — and __**beyond.**__  
At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control... the _**Planescape.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: The City Beyond The Gate**

Harry stood in front of the massive steel doors of the Skyleaf Security building. Above them, the company name was displayed along with the cloud-and-leaf coat of arms; next to them stood two gnome guards. Some sort of black, shiny vine grew like ivy over the thick stone walls. A row of imposing metal spikes went across the walls just under the roof; Harry realized he'd been too entranced by the sight of the city to even notice them before.

"Wicked!" exclaimed Ron as he looked up at the spikes. "This place looks more like a fortress than a warehouse!"

"Well, we _are_ a security company," said Lessia. "If anyone were to break in _here,_ it would destroy our reputation. But don't let the spikes and the razorvine impress you; a lot of buildings in Sigil have those. I mean, the spikes don't even do anything for security; they're just for show. The razorvine does make the walls more difficult to climb, but a professional like myself would be able to get around it."

"_Razor_vine?" said Tonks. "You mean, if you touched that vine, it would cut you?"

"Oh_,_ _yes,_" said Lessia. "If you tried to handle that stuff without metal gloves, you could easily lose a finger."

"And you're saying it's a natural _vine?_" asked Hermione. "It's not just a name for razor _wire_ or something like that?"

"Well, that would depend on your definition of 'natural'," said Phoebe, "but it is, indeed, a plant; it can grow more than two feet per day and is nearly impossible to permanently get rid of. So, the Cagers — that is, the citizens of Sigil — turn that to their advantage by using the vine as a security measure. The main disadvantage is that it must constantly be trimmed; fortunately, that's one of the main duties of the dabus. They're what you might call the caretakers of Sigil; I'll point them out to you when we pass some on the street. So, if you'll just follow me; and, every0ne, please stay close."

The group followed Phoebe as she led them down a cobblestone street. There weren't many other pedestrians, though there were a few carts at some of the other warehouses loading and unloading goods. Most were drawn by horses, but one was being pulled by some kind of giant _lizard._ Even stranger were the two lizard-like creatures loading the cart that stood on two legs and wore some type of armor. A third lizard-man stood next to them carrying a large battleaxe, while two armored humans carrying swords and shields appeared to be keeping a close eye on him.

"So, what is our itinerary for the afternoon, or the morning, as the case may be?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, the Great Bazaar isn't too far away," said Phoebe. "It's the largest marketplace in Sigil where you can buy nearly anything from all corners of the multiverse. After that, I thought we'd take in some of the highlights of The Lady's Ward; for instance, the City Courts that also serve as my faction's headquarters."

"Sigil is divided into different wards, then?"

"Yes, Professor. Right now, we're in the Market Ward." Phoebe pointed to her right. "The Lady's Ward is in that direction; it's the home of Sigil's wealthiest citizens as well as important buildings such as the Courts and the Harmonium Barracks. After that comes the Lower Ward, which is populated mainly by the working class. The Great Foundry, the headquarters of Zanton's faction, is located there."

"Next comes the Hive Ward," said James. "It's the home, if you can call it that, of Sigil's most desperate and destitute residents. It's not a place that you should visit alone unless you'd like a shiv in your ribs." He made a stabbing gesture at himself, then pointed up. "Fortunately, it's on the other side of the city from us, so we won't have to worry about it today."

"Is there a lot of crime in Sigil, then?" asked Tonks.

"Well, certainly in the Hive," replied James, "but here in the Market Ward, violent crimes are quite rare. However, the profession of pickpocket is particularly popular, so please proceed to protect your pockets and pouches from pilfering."

Lessia laughed. "Don't worry about it too much; just use common sense. The pickpockets here are a bunch of sods; I could out-pick them any day of the week. For example, I believe you youngsters have dropped your wands. It's a good thing I was here to retrieve them."

Harry turned to see Lessia holding his wand and Ginny's in her left hand along with Ron and Hermione's wands in her right. Ron tapped his pocket in surprise. "Bloody hell! How'd you do that?"

Lessia held out the wands and grinned. "What can I say? The hand is quicker than the eye."

Hermione frowned as she took back her wand. "Is that really the sort of skill you need to _stop_ pickpockets?"

"Well, you've got to know the tricks of the trade," said Lessia with a shrug. "I mean, if you think _that's_ impressive, Grandfather could use magic to pick your pocket from across a room."

Phoebe smiled at Hermione's outraged expression. "Hermione, just because he _could_ do that doesn't mean he _would._ He _is_ a Guvner, after all, though, of course, he wasn't _always_ one. In his youth, Zeck was quite the adventurer and mastered a wide variety of useful skills. He joined the Fraternity of Order after he settled down with his family and, since then, has mainly focused on his magic."

"Are we going to get a chance to meet him today?" asked Harry.

"Unfortunately not," said Lessia. "He's been away for the last two weeks dealing with some political problems. He has a seat on the parliament of a town called Tradegate where our company keeps its main office. As you might guess from the name, a lot of trade comes through there, which is where our political adversaries come in."

She frowned. "They're called the Planar Trade Consortium, a very big and wealthy corporation. They handle the shipment and distribution of trade goods — for a substantial percentage, of course. They'd like nothing more than to obtain a monopoly on interplanar shipping, which means independent merchants who choose not to use their services often experience a lot of… problems. Local authorities will soak them with taxes and fees, customs officers will confiscate their goods, their caravans get raided more often, and so on. If you sign up with them, well, suddenly, all these problems go away! But if you want out, the penalty for breaking your contract is… _severe._"

Lessia chuckled ruefully. "Of course, the Consortium doesn't do anything _illegal;_ at least, nothing anyone can _prove. _Fortunately, they're not the only ones on the planes with connections. As a high-up man in the Fraternity of Order, Grandfather can often help merchants avoid the legal obstacles the Consortium tries to throw in their path. Our security teams can drastically reduce the number of caravan raids and thefts without the Consortium's twisted, long-term contracts; not to mention our services cost a lot less than theirs."

She grinned. "As you might imagine, the Consortium isn't too happy about that, so they do their best to make life miserable for us. This time, they must have found out that Grandfather was away on a research trip, so they called an emergency session of the Tradegate Parliament in the hope that he wouldn't find out about it in time. Normally, my dad occupies the seat on his behalf, but _emergency_ sessions require him to attend in person. If he hadn't shown up, the Consortium could have pushed through all _sorts_ of inconvenient regulations or even turfed him out of his seat. Since that plan didn't work, they've settled for making the session as long and annoying as possible. It's been going on for two _weeks_ now and it'll probably last at _least_ two more!"

She sighed in frustration. "Well, at least Phoebe got a promotion out of the deal. Grandfather must have set some kind of record getting the paperwork processed for it before he left."

"And that's going to make a lot of Guvners very angry," said Phoebe, "especially those who've been waiting years for promotions. Fortunately, I don't think most of them know about it yet; they probably won't until Zeck returns."

"And then the pair of you will have a mountain of paperwork to deal with," said James.

Phoebe smiled. "That's why I'm enjoying this trip while it lasts."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "This is all very interesting, but I believe we were discussing the various wards of Sigil?"

"Oh, yes," said Phoebe. "Sorry about that little digression, Professor. Continuing in the same direction past the Hive Ward is the Clerk's Ward, where you'll find many of Sigil's government offices. Last and least is the Guildhall Ward, where the remnants of Sigil's once-powerful trade guilds still linger. It's also where James and I live because it's usually a lot quieter than the other wards. And, then, you've gone all the way around Sigil back to where you started — here."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Fascinating." He drew his wand. "If we are to encounter pickpockets, I believe it would be prudent to place an Anti-Theft Charm on our group before going further. With your permission, Ms. Black?"

"Of course, Professor," said Phoebe. James, Lessia, and Zanton nodded.

"Very well." Dumbledore chanted and gestured repeatedly in a circle with his wand, producing a shower of blue, silver, and purple sparks. The magical motes settled onto the group, then faded away.

Lessia smiled. "It _looks_ impressive, Professor, but do you mind if I put it to the test?"

"Not at all, my dear."

"All right. James, some invisibility, if you please."

James removed a small item from a pouch on his belt, then spoke two magic words and touched Lessia on the shoulder. Within two seconds, Lessia appeared to become translucent, then faded away.

"Blimey!" said Ron. "You can do that without a cloak?"

Harry replied to James's questioning expression. "I have an invisibility cloak that I inherited from my father. It makes anyone invisible who hides underneath it."

"So, does that mean you don't have spells that can do that directly?" asked Phoebe.

"We have Disillusionment Charms which make the subject harder to see," replied Dumbledore. "However, only the most proficient wizards can use them to achieve complete invisibility, which is particularly difficult in broad daylight."

Suddenly, a cry of pain sounded next to Phoebe. Harry turned to see what appeared to be a ball of orange fur with small eyes and sharp teeth waving back and forth in midair.

"_Ow!_ Ah! Hey! _Professor!_"

Everyone laughed at the absurd sight. Dumbledore smiled, then aimed his wand. _"Finite."_

The furry ball vanished and Lessia reappeared. She flexed her fingers and examined them carefully. "Huh. It doesn't cause any injury."

"I've never seen a spell like _that_ before, Professor," said Hermione.

"It is a charm of my own design, Miss Granger," replied Dumbledore. "It is not meant to do the thief harm, but simply acts as a rather amusing distraction."

Lessia laughed. "I've gotta hand it to you, Professor; that was _brilliant!_ Skyleaf Security is prepared to offer you 1,000 gold for that spell!"

Ron's jaw dropped. "A _thousand!_ Bloody _hell!_"

"I thank you for your generous offer," said Dumbledore, "but we have yet to establish whether spells from my world can be cast by wizards from yours."

Lessia shrugged. "Grandfather's the expert; I'll let him worry about that." She rubbed her hands together and grinned wickedly. "If the two of you can work something out, then our competitors will fall down on their knees and cry like babies! Yeah!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Well, then, I shall do my best to ensure your company's good fortune. But I think we should continue on our way before we lose too much time."

"Yes, Professor," said Phoebe as she gestured for the group to follow. "Speaking of time, it's 5:22 B.P., so we have about four and a half hours before we must return."

"How do you know the time so precisely without looking at a watch?" asked Hermione.

"It's one advantage of being an artificial construct," said Phoebe. "As long as I'm conscious, I'm always aware of the passage of time."

"So, when Umbridge Stunned you, she stopped your clock," said Tonks.

"Unfortunately." Phoebe sighed. "It's always so disorienting to lose track of time like that."

"I take it 'Umbridge' is one of those Death Eaters Professor Dumbledore mentioned?" said James.

"Not as far as we know," said Tonks, "though she's certainly not on _our_ side. She's the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic; a title she milks for far more than it's worth."

James laughed loudly. "You got into a fight with a _government official?_ And just after your promotion! What _will_ the factol think?"

Phoebe gritted her teeth. "She was a _corrupt_ government official who was operating outside the bounds of her lawful authority."

"There's no need to be redundant, dear," said James with a smile. "A 'corrupt government official' is like a 'round ball' or 'wet water.'"

Phoebe folded her arms indignantly. "I'll have you know, Mr. Black, that Tonks here is an _honest_ member of law enforcement. I'm sure she's already dealt with Umbridge in an efficient and lawful manner."

"Well…" Tonks shrugged. "I placed her in the custody of my partner, who's most likely taken her to St. Mungo's Hospital to recover from the effects of her failed Apparition. I'm sure he's reported the incident to our superiors, but…" She sighed. "I don't really think she'll be charged with any crime."

"_What?"_ As James was about to say something, Phoebe shot him a glare, then turned back to Tonks. "What are you talking about? You and Tom both witnessed the attack! The corroborated testimony of a law enforcement officer should be enough to _convict_ her, let alone _charge_ her! And, _yes,_ James, I'm well aware of the fact that government officials can have friends in high places. But when someone high-up publicly disgraces their position, they'll generally be 'asked to retire' at the very _least._"

"Yeah, well, I may not have been an Auror for long," said Tonks, "but I've still worked for the Ministry long enough to know what'll happen. They'll say something like, 'We don't have time to worry about such trifles! There's a war on, and we need every staff member we can get!'"

"I can't _believe_ it!" shouted Harry indignantly. "Umbridge spent all of last year denying the war on the Ministry's orders, and now they're going to use it as an excuse to protect her? I'm not just going to stand by and let her get away with this! There must be _something_ we can do about her, Professor!"

"Believe me, Harry," said Dumbledore, "I would entirely support any effort to have Dolores Umbridge removed from her position at the Ministry. However, I'm afraid I must agree with Nymphadora's assessment. As long as Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters continue to pose a threat, the Ministry will be too distracted to devote much attention to the mundane functions of government."

"Come on, Professor," scoffed Ron. "As if the Ministry's doing anything about _them!_ Everyone knows you and the Order are the only ones actually fighting!"

"So, let me get this straight," interrupted James. "The Death Eaters are an organization of evil wizards headed by another evil wizard known as Lord Voldemort. Collectively, they pose a threat to the wizarding government great enough to be considered a war. The aforementioned government, known as the Ministry, is no doubt expending a great deal of effort to convince the population that they're doing something, while, in reality, that's pretty much the extent of the 'something' they're doing. Meanwhile, the Professor here is running some sort of 'Order' out of his school as a secret and most likely illegal resistance against the Death Eaters."

He grinned. "Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, I don't think that the Order of the Phoenix can actually be considered _illegal._"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "How could you possibly _know_ all that? You only met us a few minutes ago!"

"I've been listening to your conversation, of course!" James paused. "As you'll recall, Professor Dumbledore already mentioned the Death Eaters back at the warehouse. As for the rest, it's a story that's been told many times throughout history. An evil force threatens the land… The government is either impotent, corrupt, or actively assisting the evil… A band of brave heroes rises up to oppose the evil… The government brands them outlaws and traitors."

He smiled. "And any group called the 'Order' of something is either secret or, at least, exclusive in its membership."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, we must maintain at least _some_ degree of secrecy to prevent the Death Eaters from learning of our plans. As for exclusive, we are open to anyone who wishes to stand against Lord Voldemort… but, alas, there are far too few who are willing to do so."

"Ah. Well, if you need someone to gather intelligence on these Death Eaters, I could certainly be of assistance to you there. You see, my faction is called the Revolutionary League, also known as the Anarchists, and we are all quite adept at such clandestine activities."

"Anarchists?" said Hermione. "Are you saying you want to overthrow the government?"

"Well, _some_ do, but I prefer to take a larger view. You see, attempts at violent overthrow usually do a lot of harm to innocent people, who then beg the government to protect them from those horrible rebels. And even if the overthrow is successful, former rebels have a regrettable tendency to become the next government themselves. I believe in winning hearts and minds by exposing the dark deeds of authority to the light. While all governments are inherently corrupt, most of them would rather not admit it, so the threat of exposure does tend to limit the damage they can cause. Eventually, the people will realize that we have their best interests at heart and the government does not. Thus, the power of government will gradually diminish until it simply fades away."

Hermione shook her head. "Well, _that's_ never going to work! People _need_ a government!"

"Because they can't think for themselves?" said James.

"No! We need a government to maintain order!"

"I see." James smiled. "So your Ministry is maintaining order, is it?"

"Well…" Hermione paused. "Just because they're not doing their job properly doesn't mean the job shouldn't exist at _all!_ A-And _wait_ a minute! Your _wife_ is a member of the _Fraternity_ of Order! Doesn't that create some sort of conflict of interest?"

James made a dismissive gesture. "Perhaps sometimes, but not nearly as often as most would believe. While it's true that the factions are very important in Sigil, they are not, despite what many faction members will tell you, our sole reason for being. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's those mindless partisans who do nothing but parrot their factions' official dogma. Now, you might think that Anarchists would be less susceptible to this, as our philosophy should preclude the _existence_ of an official dogma; but, alas, this is not actually the case."

He shook his head. "Many Anarchists have called me a traitor for marrying Phoebe, which just proves that it is _they_ who do not understand our philosophy. I mean, really; did I break some sort of Anarchist _rule?_" He scoffed. "The truth is that my friends and I share a common belief in _good;_ we only disagree on the methods used to achieve it. And, for the most part, we simply agree to disagree, thus preventing any unpleasant conflicts between us."

"Many Guvners aren't too happy about us either," said Phoebe, "though perhaps not for the reason you might think. My enemies in the faction would love to see me fail, but the actions they can take against me are restricted by the law. They can bend it, twist it, and creatively interpret it, but, as Guvners, they can't actually _break_ it. But they're afraid that James could be a foolproof way for me to get around that. I could have him do the dirty work for me, just as long as I didn't 'officially' know about it."

She shook her head. "But, one thing they forget is that James and I are both bound by something other than the law called _morality._ This is because their own moral compasses don't exactly point in the same direction as mine. If they could get away with it, they would; but, they can't, and they know I could."

Phoebe sighed. "Politics can be such a pain; I don't know how Zeck puts up with it. And, now that I'm an Assistant Bureau Chief, I'm going to have to deal with it a whole lot more."

James put his arm around Phoebe. "Oh, don't worry about that, dear; I _love_ politics!"

"Yes, dear; that's exactly what they _are_ worried about."

Tonks laughed. "Hang on; should you really be telling us all this? I mean, that's not exactly clandestine."

James shrugged. "Due to a complicated series of events, most people who know me as 'James Black' know I'm an Anarchist. But that's not really a problem, as any Anarchist worth his salt has a wide selection of identities to choose from. In fact, such a thing can actually work to my advantage. If a body thinks he _already_ knows your secrets, he's less likely to dig deep enough to actually _find_ them."

"So, what's the Anarchists' faction power?" asked Harry. "Or is it one of those things that if you told us, you'd have to kill us?"

James laughed. "Our faction power is useful for _keeping_ secrets, but it's not really a secret itself; at least, not since the publication of _The Factol's Manifesto._ As I mentioned before, we're very good at maintaining alternate identities; so good, in fact, that we can often hide the truth from spells designed to reveal it. For example, there's a spell called True Sight that can pierce illusions and reveal the true forms of shapeshifters. It's very useful for revealing those who use magic to disguise themselves. If someone uses it on an undercover Anarchist, however, it's not nearly as reliable; if the Anarchist believes in his cover identity strongly enough, he can trick the _spell_ into believing it as well. Of course, _then,_ everyone else will believe the Anarchist's story; after all, their magic has confirmed it! Which is exactly why one should not rely entirely on magic to verify someone's identity."

"A spell that can reveal shapeshifters," said Dumbledore. "Very interesting. Can any of you cast this spell?"

"It's not one that I personally know," said Zanton, "but I could cast it from a scroll."

"You mean like the ones Phoebe has in her backpack," said Harry.

"Similar to those, yes," replied Zanton.

Phoebe smiled. "Don't worry, Professor; we will give you a full explanation of the different types of magic we practise. But, for now, it's best not to worry about such details and just enjoy yourself!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Indeed! I'm afraid I have far too few opportunities to do so these days with my responsibilities to the school and the Order. But, tell me: is magic practised openly in Sigil?"

"Oh, yes; we don't have a Statute of Secrecy or anything like that. After all, you can hardly hide the existence of magic from someone who used a magical portal to get here!"

"Does that mean there are no conflicts here between wizards and Muggles?" asked Hermione.

"We have more than our share of conflicts here," said James, "but not for such a reason as that. In Sigil, it doesn't really matter whether or not you have magic; what matters is whether or not you have _jink._"

He took some coins out of his pocket and jingled them in his hand. "Spellcasters are treated like any other skilled tradesmen; though, since most of them could set you on fire with a wave of their hands, people tend to be a bit more conscientious about paying them on time. And many 'Muggles' are willing to pay them quite handsomely for their services. Even an apprentice spellcaster can make a fair living by casting only a few spells per day."

Ron sighed. "I wish _we_ could do that. Then, maybe my family wouldn't be so poor."

James patted him on the shoulder. "Ron, don't ever let that sort of thing get to you. I grew up in an orphanage, so I know what it's like to envy those rich bastards. Now, I _am_ a rich bastard who spends most of his time plotting to bring down the rest of them!" He gestured at his clothes. "And I can tell you that the first step in becoming one is to _look_ like one."

Ron frowned. "There's no way I can afford clothes like _that!_ I can't even afford decent dress robes!"

"Not to worry, my boy; I'm sure I'll think of something," said James. "Stick with me, and you'll be on your way from berk to blood!"

"_Blood?_ What on Earth does _that_ mean?"

"Ah, yes; I forgot you're new to all this." James paused. "We have our own way of talking here in Sigil; it's sometimes referred to as 'The Cant.' That just means we use a lot of obscure colloquialisms in order to keep the Clueless confused. A 'blood' is someone who's powerful and respected; someone whom others look up to — or fear to defy."

"Yeah, right," scoffed Ron. "Like anyone would ever fear _me._ Harry's the real 'blood' at Hogwarts; I'm just the bloke who hangs around with him."

"Come on, Ron," said Harry. "You're not just some bloke; you're my best friend!"

"Yeah, but you're the one who always saves the day! What have I ever done that was actually _useful?_"

"Well, what about the giant chessboard in our first year? Hermione and I couldn't have got past it without you!"

Ron snorted. "Look, mate, I know you're trying to cheer me up and all, but who really cares that I'm good at chess?"

"_Chess!"_ exclaimed James. "My boy, chess is the game of _kings!_ And here you are claiming to have no respectable talents! Most high-up military officers play chess to practice their strategic thinking skills, and such skills are very much in demand in times of war."

"Yeah, but… I'm not in the military; I'm just a _kid!_"

"Is that so?" said Phoebe. "As I recall, you protested vociferously against being referred to as a child before our departure."

"And you _are_ in an army, Ronald," said Hermione. "_Dumbledore's_ Army."

"All _right!_" Ron threw up his arms in exasperation. "Bloody hell! Why is everyone ganging up on me?"

"Because, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore with a smile, "it would seem you are the only one here who doubts your potential. After all, when history records the names of the first Earth wizards ever to set foot in Sigil, the name of Ronald Weasley will be among them."

"Though it would come last in alphabetical order," noted James. "We wouldn't want you to feel _too_ good about yourself."

Ron laughed. "All right, all right. Blimey, what have I gotten myself into?"

"You're walking through the streets of a torus-shaped city on another plane of existence," said James. "A bit late to be asking yourself _that_ question, isn't it?"

He glanced to his left, then stopped. "Ah! If you'll kindly look to the intersection on your left, you'll see a pair of the dabus Phoebe was telling you about earlier."

Harry turned and saw two strange creatures who appeared to be hard at work replacing some damaged cobblestones in the street. They were about the same size and shape as humans, but their skin was a purplish-gray color. They each had two horns sticking straight up from their heads as well as two more that curved outward from the sides of their heads. Their white hair stood straight up as well, making it look as if their heads were topped with white candy floss. They wore identical robes decorated in a pattern of dark green, light green, and white. The most unusual thing about them, however, was that they did not appear to be standing on the ground; instead, they seemed to be floating about six inches _above_ it.

Ron had obviously noticed this, too. "Why are they floating like that?"

"It's just what they do," said Phoebe. "No one really knows why."

Ron frowned in confusion. "Do they even have _feet?_"

"Yes, they do," said James, "though only one dabus has ever been known to walk upon them. The rest just keep them tucked up under their robes."

"Phoebe, you said they were the caretakers of the city," said Hermione. "Does that mean they work for the city government?"

"Well, they occasionally work _with_ the government," replied Phoebe, "but they don't actually work _for_ it. As far as anyone can tell, the dabus are Sigil's original inhabitants who have been here as long the city itself. If asked where they came from, they've been known to reply that the city itself _created_ them."

"Perhaps the most interesting thing about them is _how_ they would reply," said James. "No dabus has ever been known to speak; instead, they communicate using rebuses. For example, if a dabus wanted to say the word "city", it might display the image of a person sitting with '+ E' after it. These images usually appear to the dabus's left and are always appropriate for whatever language is used to speak to it."

"If they can display images of _letters,_" said Hermione, "then why can't they just spell out _words?_"

"Well, that's not allowed in a rebus, is it?" said James. "A rebus is a puzzle; you're supposed to figure out the words."

"Then why do they — " Hermione sighed. "Let me guess. No one knows _that_ either."

James grinned. "Nope!"

Phoebe smiled. "Do not despair, Hermione, for there is much we _do_ know about the planes. After all, I did write a book about them."

Hermione laughed. "I look forward to reading it."

She paused. "From what I've seen so far, it looks like the level of technology here is similar to the Renaissance period back home. James's rapier and your pistol would certainly be consistent with that. But I can't figure out how your pistol is supposed to work; it looks like the hammer strikes some kind of crystal."

Phoebe nodded. "When the trigger is pulled, the hammer strikes a high-quality quartz crystal. This creates an electric spark which ignites the propellant."

Hermione frowned in concentration. "I know I've heard of something like that before, but I just can't remember the word for it."

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'piezoelectricity,'" said Phoebe.

"That's it!" exclaimed Hermione. "Piezoelectricity is the principle that when pressure is applied to certain types of crystals, it creates an electrical voltage."

She turned to Harry. "You know how when you turn the knob to light a gas stove, it makes a snapping sound before it ignites?" Harry nodded. "There's a spring-loaded hammer and a crystal inside that creates a piezoelectric spark."

"I never knew _that_ before," said Harry. He smiled. "To think that guns from another plane of existence are powered by ordinary Muggle technology."

"It might be ordinary technology on Earth," said Phoebe, "but in Sigil, it's considered quite advanced. This type of firearm originates from my home city. When I first came to Sigil, I shared the design with Zeck. Since then, the popularity of firearms has increased greatly throughout the planes."

"They're fairly expensive, though," said Lessia. "I mean, a longbow or crossbow is still a lot cheaper, so guns aren't likely to replace them anytime soon. But the advantage is that they have more destructive power in a smaller package. A small, hand-held pistol packs about the same punch as a big, bulky crossbow; this gnome-sized rifle is actually more powerful than a crossbow sized for a human."

She held her rifle in both hands, then pressed a switch on it. The stock separated from the back of the barrel, though they were still held together by a hinge. Lessia reached into the barrel and removed a tiny bundle.

"It's loaded with a paper cartridge containing a bullet and a dose of alchemical guncotton. That has a bit more kick than gunpowder, plus it's not as easily ruined by water. It can't be ignited with fire, either, which is why the gun requires an electrical spark."

Lessia quickly re-inserted the cartridge into the barrel and snapped the stock closed. "As you can see, this design allows it to be reloaded much faster than a more primitive firearm or a crossbow. In fact, with the right training, you could reload and fire this as quickly as a longbow. Admittedly, that takes quite a bit of practice, but I've done it so many times that it's become second nature."

Hermione nodded. "That would be a lot more efficient than the firearms used in the Renaissance. Is your gun also enchanted like Phoebe's?"

"Of course," said Lessia as she shouldered her rifle. "That's actually the main reason we needed the advanced designs from her. My family had been experimenting with firearm designs for centuries, but we just couldn't figure out how to make one of sufficient quality to hold a permanent enchantment. There are a whole lot of dangerous creatures on the planes that are highly resistant to mundane weapons; without magic, even guns would be virtually useless against them."

She smiled. "When Phoebe taught us the secret, though, it was just what we needed to stand out from the competition. When you're the only company offering guards armed with _guns,_ people notice. Of course, other craftsmen have learned to make guns since then, but most of them still lag behind us in quality. The truth is, without Phoebe, Skyleaf Security would never have achieved the success it has today."

Phoebe blushed. "Well, I suppose I did _help…_"

"She's always so humble," said Lessia, "but, believe me, she's the best. Her own _parents_ couldn't predict how fast she'd advance, and they _built_ her. And, now, she's in charge of her own team of students; a position everyone knows she's ready for except her."

"It just makes me nervous, that's all," said Phoebe. "Those are five young people not much older than Harry whose careers and even _lives_ will be in my hands."

She chuckled, then glanced at Ron and Ginny. "Now I know how your mother must have felt when I asked her to let me bring you here. I told _her_ not to worry; why in all the known planes can't I tell _myself?_"

"Because you have feelings and care about others," said Zanton. "It's an occupational hazard of being good."

Phoebe laughed. "All right, now, you two; stop inflating my ego. I think it's already exceeded its recommended pressure."

"When can we meet these students of yours?" asked Harry.

"I have to submit a report on my preliminary findings to Zeck first," replied Phoebe, "so I'll probably bring them to Earth once he returns from Tradegate."

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. "Oh! That reminds me. Professor, does that curse on your hand pose any immediate threat to you?"

"Not at this time," said Dumbledore. "One of my professors, a man named Severus Snape, has managed to retard its progress."

"He's got a curse on his hand?" said Lessia. She frowned in confusion. "What does that have to do with your _students?_"

"Because the mother of one of them is an expert in necromancy," said Phoebe. "I was going to have her take a look at the curse and see if she knows how to break it. She's not in Sigil right now, though, so I just wanted to make sure we had enough time to send for her."

"Oh, I assure you, there's no need to hurry on my account," said Dumbledore. "Professor Snape has done an excellent job."

"But, Professor," said Harry nervously, "what will happen to you if the curse _isn't_ broken?"

"I wouldn't worry about that, Harry," said Phoebe. "Zeck has access to some very powerful magic which can break nearly any curse in existence. It's very rare and valuable, though, so I want to find out if anything less will suffice."

Dumbledore smiled. "I have no doubt you will find the answer, my dear."

As the group continued on, they began to hear the sounds of a large crowd which gradually got louder the further they went. After a few minutes, the cobblestone streets gave way to a vast, open-air plaza. There were hundreds of merchants as far as the eye could see, hawking their wares next to a bewildering variety of tents, tables, carts, and stalls. Most of the shoppers appeared to be human, or at least human-_shaped,_ though some had strange features such as green skin or tails. There were some who looked like centaurs with rams' horns on their heads, as well as a metallic creature that resembled a walking _box._

The air was filled with loud voices speaking mostly in English, though Harry could hear some unfamiliar languages as well. A man walked past pulling a dog on a leash, both of whose heads were barking loudly to protest their predicament. Harry's nose tingled with the scent of smoke, sweat, cooked meat, and much more. All in all, the combined sensory experience was positively overwhelming; Harry could easily believe this was a crossroads of worlds.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed a wide-eyed Ron. "This is like Diagon Alley multiplied by a _thousand!_"

Lessia smiled. "Well, it's not called the Great Bazaar for nothing!"

"There are so many different beings here!" said Hermione. "Are they all from different planes of existence?"

"Most of them are," replied Phoebe. "Sigil's population is about one million, give or take twenty thousand, but only about one-third of them are actually permanent residents. Most of the rest are visiting here on business, and this is where a lot of that business takes place."

"What kind of things do they sell here?" asked Harry.

"_Everything!"_ said Lessia. "Food, clothing, weapons, magic… if it exists, even if no one here has it, there's probably someone here who can _get_ it!"

"How do you find what you're looking for in such a huge market?" said Tonks.

"Well, it's not always easy," replied Lessia. "The most popular merchants usually have at least a semi-permanent spot; for the rest, you just need to ask around. It's easier if you're an Indep like me; you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting one of us here."

"Is 'Indep' the name of your faction?" asked Ginny.

"Its so-called 'official' name is the Free League," replied Lessia. "We're called Indeps because we believe in personal independence and individual freedom; in other words, we _really_ don't like being ordered around."

She gestured at her surroundings. "In fact, the Great Bazaar serves as our unofficial headquarters 'cause we're just too independent to have an official one! Anyone can set up shop here no matter who they are or where they come from. In here, everyone has a fair chance to make a living for themselves; without that, all other freedoms would be meaningless."

Ginny nodded. "And what sort of powers do Indeps have?"

"We can resist attempts to magically control our minds," said Lessia. "'Course, anyone can do that if they've got a strong enough will, but Indeps are better at it than most. We can even resist some spells that, for others, would be completely irresistible!"

Ron smiled. "Wicked! That could come in handy against the Imperius Curse!"

Lessia turned to James. "So, are we just going to show our new friends the sights, or are we going to buy something while we're here?"

"We should get some sort of gift to present at this evening's meeting," said James. "It doesn't need to be expensive, but it should be of obviously extraplanar origin." He paused, then smiled. "Hmmm… yes, I've got just the thing. What would you say to a nice bouquet from Finstyr's Florals?"

"Oh, come on, James," said Lessia. "Does _everything_ you do have to involve that sodding inn?"

James shrugged. "Is it so wrong for me to express my appreciation for the finest inn in the multiverse? Indeed, the word 'inn' is entirely _inn_-adequate to properly describe its magnificence."

He chuckled at Harry's confused expression. "My friends, there is an inn called Chirper's located at the edge of the Great Bazaar which has been my favourite establishment for the past ten years. Everyone thinks I'm obsessed with the place, and, I have to admit, they're right. It has fine cuisine and comfortable rooms, though, of course, that goes without saying. What makes it unique are such features as its four specialty shops, one of which specialises in exotic floral arrangements from the Inner Planes. I believe such an item would not only serve as an aesthetically pleasing token of our esteem, but also as a suitably otherworldly piece of evidence. Not that I'm suggesting your colleagues would actually doubt your account of your visit, but it always helps to have something your audience can see and touch."

Dumbledore nodded. "That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Black. Professor Sprout, our Herbology teacher at Hogwarts, will be absolutely ecstatic."

"Wonderful!" James clapped his hands together. "We should make that our last stop before we leave; that way, I can treat you all to a marvellous lunch 'slash' dinner. Phoebe, if we take one hour for our meal and a half hour to give everyone a chance to look around, how much time does that leave us?"

"Well, let's see." Phoebe turned to Dumbledore. "Professor, can you Disapparate again today?"

"I presume you're asking if I can Apparate back to the warehouse? Oh, yes; that would be quite simple. My students have not yet been trained in this type of magic, but Nymphadora and I will be able to take them with us by what we call Side-Along Apparition."

Tonks frowned. "Albus, is it safe for us to do that here? I mean, with the city being curved and all?"

"I see no reason why that should be a problem," said Dumbledore. "After all, the surface of the Earth is curved as well."

Tonks slapped her forehead. "I can't believe I didn't think of that. Honestly, Phoebe, I'm not really _that_ thick."

Phoebe smiled. "Well, the surface of a planet can be approximated as flat over a small enough distance. The same applies to Sigil, as well, though the distance would be considerably shorter. That's actually an important principle of differential geometry; if that property holds for all points on a curved surface — "

"Yes, dear," interrupted James, "but could you please just calculate the time?"

"Oh, all right. It's 4:51 B.P. right now and 2:22 P.M. in London. There's a portal about five minutes walk from here that should put us a few blocks away from the City Courts. When we return, it will be about a fifteen minute walk from that portal to Chirper's, and we should probably add fifteen minutes of extra time in case of delays. There's not much point in staying here if we're not going to buy anything, so we have about two hours left."

Phoebe turned to Dumbledore. "I apologise if this all seems a bit rushed, but I'm sure we'll have time for a more extensive tour later."

"I quite understand, my dear. Please lead the way."

"Hang on," said Lessia. "There's one more thing I'd like to show our friends here." She pointed in the direction of a red-and-orange booth. "I think he's somewhere down that way; let me check."

She approached a nearby merchant who was cooking sausages on a small charcoal grill. The merchant smiled and gestured at his wares. "Sausage on a spike! Two for one silver!"

Lessia handed him a silver piece. The merchant took a small, pointed stick out of a cup next to the grill, impaled two of the sausages on the stick, and handed it to her. She smiled and took a bite. "Hmmm… not bad. D'you know where Budge's spot is? He's the red-haired gnome who sells domesticated ethyks."

The merchant nodded and pointed in almost the same direction that Lessia had. "Aye, he's about fifteen spots thataway. He's got a big sign with his name; you can't miss it."

"Thanks!" Lessia gestured to the group. "Come on, then! Believe me, you'll love this."

Phoebe frowned. "You're not actually going to _buy_ an ethyk, are you? I don't think it would be wise to import such a creature to Earth."

"I know," said Lessia, "and, besides, Celeste would have a fit if we did. I just thought our friends might be interested in seeing a bit of our planar wildlife."

"I'd have thought you'd have wanted to take them shopping for clothes."

"I will when we have enough time." Lessia smiled and gestured at Phoebe. "You can't rush things when it comes to fashion; we wouldn't want the girls to get stuck wearing _that._"

"May I remind you that _you_ were the one who bought me this outfit?"

"That was two _years_ ago! It might as well be two _hundred!_"

Ron frowned in confusion. "What's an 'ethic'?"

"You'll see in just a moment," said Lessia.

As the group passed by a merchant selling pottery, Harry saw a large red tent covered in yellow symbols that resembled hourglasses. A purple sign above the tent bore the words **"BUDGE'S BYTOPIAN BEASTIES"** written in yellow. In front of the tent, a stack of small cages stood next to two tables. One table was at a normal height for a human; the one to its left appeared to be sized for smaller creatures like gnomes. One such gnome with unkempt red hair and a scraggly beard was standing on a stool behind the larger table; he waved his hands while shouting out his sales pitch to the crowd.

"Buy a beastie today, my friends! Finest ethyks in the Cage!"

A small creature about the size of a rabbit was perched on the large table in front of him. It had light brown fur on its body and a long tail with alternating brown and white stripes. Its four paws resembled those of a rodent with small but sharp-looking claws. The fur on its head was long and spiky, and its pointed ears were angled outward from its somewhat triangular head. In the center of its face was a single large eye that cast a curious glance at Harry as he approached.

Lessia gave the gnome a friendly smile. "Hello, Budge! How's business?"

The gnome's eyes lit up. "Ah, Miss Skyleaf! How nice to see you here! Have you come to purchase one of my fine animals?"

"Not today, I'm afraid; I'm just showing my guests here some of the wonders of Sigil."

"Ah!" He turned to the group. "New in town, are you? Well, if you're looking for the wonders of Sigil, my friends, you've come to the right place!"

He tipped his pointed red cap. "Rarnaby Budge, at your service! Purveyor of the finest ethyks in the planes!"

Harry pointed at the small creature on the table. "So, this is an ethyk, then?"

"Why, of course!" He stroked the creature's fur. "Her name is Fiya. She's my own personal ethyk, so she's not for sale. But in my tent there, I've got a good selection of the beasties to choose from; all bred in captivity and guaranteed healthy, or your money back!"

Budge smiled. "Now, there's a lot of berks what call themselves ethyk merchants in this town, but not one of them will give you a guarantee like that!"

He gestured at the cages. "Some of 'em keep their beasties in cages all day, stackin' 'em up like any other goods on a shelf! Well, not _me,_ cutters; I only use these for transporting 'em. My tent's got ventilation, light can come in through the top — my beasties can climb around in there all day and be happy! Isn't that right, my Fiya?" The ethyk gave a happy squeak.

"Oh, she's so cute!" said Ginny. "Can I pet her?"

"Certainly, miss," replied Budge. "Just let her get a sniff of your hand first. You wouldn't want to surprise her, now."

Ginny reached out her hand just in front of Fiya's nose. The ethyk sniffed it for a few seconds, then squeaked. As Ginny gently stroked her fur, Fiya made a soft trilling sound that sounded like a mixture of a squeak and a purr.

"Oh, she likes you, miss!" said Budge. "How'd you like to take home one of your own today? Only two hundred gold; and, remember, they're _guaranteed!_"

Ginny chuckled. "I'm afraid I don't have that kind of money. Besides, I'm not sure my parents would approve."

Ron frowned. "You really think it's _cute?_ It's only got one eye!"

"Well, she's cuter than anything Hagrid's got," said Ginny. She laughed. "It's a good thing he's not here; he'd want to buy Mr. Budge's whole tent if he could afford it!"

"Why are they so expensive?" asked Hermione. "Are they magical creatures?"

"Oh, yes, miss!" replied Budge. "They've got the power to make other creatures angry; in the wild, it's used as a defence against predators. See, when a predator tries to attack an ethyk, it can make the predator angry with another creature instead, so it's that creature what gets attacked and not the ethyk. You follow me?"

Hermione nodded. "But why would anyone want a _pet_ to do _that?_"

"Well, a tame ethyk can use its power to defend its owner, too," said Budge. "Say you're walkin' down an alley, mindin' your own business, and two bashers jump out of the shadows and demand your money. You tell your ethyk to make one of 'em angry, and he decides to bash in his partner's head instead of yours."

"That's _horrible!_" exclaimed Hermione.

"What; you'd prefer to let the both of them beat and rob you?"

"No! But I wouldn't want them to _kill_ each other!"

"Well, it would really be their own fault, wouldn't it?" said Budge. "Say you were angry with your best friend, and I mean, _really_ angry; you might scream in her face, but you wouldn't stick a knife in her ribs, would ya?"

Hermione frowned in confusion. "No, of course not."

"Exactly! But if you were already a violent criminal who would bash in a body's brain-box as soon as look at 'em, an ethyk's power would be like throwing a lit tindertwig onto a pile of straw soaked in lamp oil. _Whoosh!_"

"Which is, of course, why violent criminals have been known to use them on each _other,_" said James wryly.

"Well, yes," said Budge, "but I don't do business with any of _that_ sort. I only sell my beasties to those who would give them good homes. A body who's kind to animals isn't likely to be violent without reason, so I can make a profit and still sleep well at night."

"But aren't there any regulations or restrictions on selling potentially dangerous creatures?" asked Hermione.

"Not for ethyks, at least," said Phoebe. "The Harmonium tries to have them banned every so often, but no one else in Sigil really cares enough to support them. I mean, for the price of one ethyk, you could buy a hundred daggers, and there's no law against _that._"

"Hear, hear!" said Budge. "Soddin' Hardheads always want to ban everything."

"Well, Budge, we don't want to take up any more of your valuable time," said Lessia, "especially since we're not paying for it. See you later!"

As the group walked away, Ron turned to Harry. "It's a good thing Fred and George aren't here. Imagine what they could do with a creature like that!"

Harry chuckled. "I don't think they'd really need any help making people _angry._"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Boys."

She paused. "Phoebe, I noticed that the time in Sigil counts down rather than up. I remember you said that noon was called 'peak', so 'B.P.' must mean the amount of time 'Before Peak', right?"

"Correct," replied Phoebe. "The time counts down until it reaches peak, then counts _up_ the number of hours and minutes _After_ Peak, or A.P."

"Which would logically mean the time switches over at midnight."

"Right again, though we would refer to that as 'antipeak' here."

Hermione nodded. "That's quite interesting, because 'A.M.' and 'P.M.' mean almost the same as that. They stand for the Latin words _ante meridiem _and _post meridiem, _meaning 'before midday' and 'after midday' respectively. But, wait; how many hours are in a Sigil day?"

"Twenty-four," said Phoebe, "just like it is on Earth. We don't have a sun or moon here for light; it just gets brighter and darker on a regular schedule."

Hermione frowned. "It seems like quite a coincidence that the day on another plane of existence is exactly the same as the day on Earth."

"Actually, the lengths of days and years are the same on most inhabited worlds. In Sigil, the Fraternity of Order has established a calendar with thirteen months, each with four weeks, which, in turn, have seven days. The years themselves are numbered by the length of time the current factol of the Fraternity of Order has held office; this year is the 134th year of Factol Hashkar's reign."

"So a year here is 364 days," said Hermione. "That's only one day off from Earth, or two during leap years."

"He's been in office for 134 _years?_" said Tonks. "That's pretty impressive. I mean, Professor Dumbledore is older than that, but he'd have to have been appointed headmaster the day he graduated in order to have been in office _that_ long."

"Factol Hashkar is a dwarf," said Phoebe. "Their average lifespans are considerably longer than those of humans."

"So does that mean the factol holds his position for life?" asked Tonks.

James grinned. "Well, not in Hashkar's case, since he's actually _dead._"

Phoebe shot an indignant glare at her husband. "That is Revolutionary League propaganda; the Fraternity of Order refuses to dignify it with a response."

"What do you mean, he's _dead?_" said Hermione. "Then who approved Phoebe's promotion?"

"Oh, he's not _gone,_" said Lessia. "Grandfather talks to him all the time. The chant is that Hashkar's body died long ago, but his spirit just kept on performing his duties as if nothing had happened."

"That actually happened to a professor of ours at Hogwarts!" said Ron. "Professor Binns was so focused on his lecture one day, he didn't even notice he'd died and become a ghost right in the middle of it!"

"Factol Haskhar's not a _ghost,_ at any rate," said Zanton. "He is _alleged_ to be a petitioner, which is a spirit in physical form. If this were true, then any Bureau Chiefs with a desire to succeed him would protest against a factol who could potentially reign forever. As it is merely an unproven rumour, they have no legal grounds to take action against him."

"Hey, now, _there's_ a thought," said Lessia. "At the rate she's going, we might yet see the first year of Factol Black's reign."

Phoebe shook her head vigorously. "Powers forbid! Regardless of the metaphysical state of our current factol, I have no desire whatsoever to take his place! _This_ is what I love; doing research in the field. High-ups like the factol have to spend all their time _running_ things."

"Now, you see, that's why _my_ faction is the best," said James. "_Everyone_ can do what they love, and _no one_ has to run things!"

Everyone laughed as the group continued on through Sigil's narrow streets. They quickly reached a small, dingy pub which reminded Harry of the Hog's Head. Lessia ordered a pint of ale while Phoebe showed them the portal attached to the pub's back door; as before, Harry saw that the portal was outlined by a dim blue glow. Phoebe explained that while most portals in Sigil led to other planes or worlds, some of them were shortcuts to other places in the city.

"This will take us to another pub which is only a few blocks away from the City Courts," said Phoebe. "I'll need to stop there to make arrangements for us to bring in Lady Jacynth; she's the necromancy expert I mentioned before. After that, I'll need to deal with any urgent messages on my desk, so I'll probably be stuck there a while. In the meantime, the others can show you some of the sights of The Lady's Ward… like the Singing Fountain; that's pretty close to the Courts."

"I'm not sure if Marian will be there so early in the day," said Zanton. "The Fountain's music is best appreciated with her singing to accompany it."

"Oh, and what am I, chopped lemure?" said James. "I can sing just as well as she can."

Zanton smiled. "Perhaps, but you do not possess her unique talents."

"I suppose I can't argue with that," said James. He grinned and clapped his hands. "All right, then! We'll go see the Fountain, then do a little wandering around the ward, after which we can get to my favourite part and enjoy a nice, leisurely meal at Chirper's."

He paused. "You know, that's where Phoebe and I went on our first date."

"Oh, really?" said Ginny. "I guess that's why it's your favourite, then."

"It was actually my favourite even before that," said James. "But after that night… ah, such wonderful memories. I'm reminded of them every time I return."

"It would be hard for anyone _not_ to be," said Lessia with a smile, "since there's a big portrait of the two of them hanging near the entrance."

"Wow!" said Tonks. "What did you do to get _that?_"

Phoebe smiled knowingly. "Long story."

* * *

*This is an "ancient Mayan prophecy" only in the sense that **Calgon™** is an "ancient Chinese secret."

**Why is it always a _dog?_ Why can't a _cat_ ever save the world? I mean, look, I like dogs as much as the next guy, but there's just nothing that compares to holding a soft, warm cat in your arms and listening to him purr as you pet him. I'm sick of Hollywood always depicting cats as the bad guys and insinuating that men who like cats are effeminate. OK, so I may have played with my sister's Strawberry Shortcake dolls as a child, but I played _Strawberry Shortcake vs. __**The Terrorists!**_ Nobody better question _my_ testosterone levels — unless they'd like a shortcake made out of **C4!™**

For **Pathfinder **players, the guns in this story do not use the firearms rules in _Ultimate Combat._ Instead, they use a variation on the rules found in _Dragon _#321 (July 2004). A pistol using Phoebe's advanced technology is a masterwork weapon that inflicts 2d6 damage (Medium) or 1d10 damage (Small). It costs 650 gp and can be reloaded as a move action. (Lessia has the Rapid Reload feat, allowing her to reload as a free action.) An advanced rifle costs 1,000 gp (2d10 damage Medium, 2d8 damage Small) and both guns have a x3 critical multiplier.


	7. Chapter 6: Water and Glass

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY  
****A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover**

**This story and all original materials are © 2012 Rick Summon.  
**_**Harry Potter**_** and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.  
**_**Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, **_**and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.  
**_**Pathfinder **_**and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.  
**_**Planescape: Torment**_** and all related materials are © and ® Black Isle Studios.**

* * *

This fall, on the **Disney Channel™**… a new and exciting animated series _scientifically designed _to appeal to little girls and boys alike!

**Strawberry Shortcake: Fruit United**

Strawberry Shortcake and her friends live in the secluded valley of Strawberryland, spending their days doing stereotypically girly things like wearing cute dresses and having tea parties. But they're really covert operatives of the United Fruit Corporation, defending America's produce industry against the **Terrorists!™**

**SS: **Do you like the tea, everyone? It's organically grown in a greenhouse in Seattle.

**Lemon Meringue: **Oh, yes, it's lovely. And so is your dress!

**SS: **How sweet! And that bright yellow frock really suits you!

**Huckleberry Pie: **Why am _I_ wearing a dress? I'm a _boy!_

**Mary Jane: **Aw, shut up and drink, or you can't have my special brownies!

_Suddenly, red lights flash and an alarm goes off._

**SS: **It's the **Terror Alert!™** Everyone, to your stations!

_She pulls a lever on her chair, causing the floor to lower itself into their secret underground base. The kids dash into their equipment pods and come out wearing black body armor marked with their fruit insignia and accessorized with black berets and sunglasses. Strawberry rushes to the monitor and verifies her identity with a retinal scan._

**United Fruit: ** Strawberry, we have a situation in California. A **Terrorist™ **plans to detonate a pesticide bomb to contaminate the organic blueberry crop.

**SS: **My _God!_ Will these people stop at _nothing?_ Quick, everyone! To the Strawberry Stealth Tactical Transport!

_Meanwhile, in an abandoned warehouse, a __**Terrorist™ **__wearing a gas mask is staring at a vat of bubbling green liquid._

**Terrorist:™** _(speaking in a vaguely foreign accent) _ Soon, my evil plan will be complete! America's children will be forced to consume toxic chemicals while eating the very fruit they think is healthy! **MWA HA HA HA!™**

_Suddenly, Strawberry and her friends crash through the windows armed with __**Heckler and Koch™ MP5™ **__submachine guns._

**SS: **Don't move, dirtbag! We've got you surrounded!

_The __**Terrorist™ **__ reaches for a detonator; Strawberry and her friends open fire, causing him to fall screaming into the vat._

**MJ:** Well, that takes care of _him!_ What are we going to do next?

**SS:** We're in _California, _silly! What do you think? We're going to **Disneyland!™**

_Tune in next time as Strawberry Shortcake battles the evil __**Terrorist™**__ mastermind __**Papa Plantain!**_

**PP:** So, you thought I was just the second banana? Goodbye, Miss Shortcake! Daylight come, but you won't go home! **MWA HA HA HA!™**

* * *

_There are worlds beyond the world that you know.  
__Other universes, dimensions — the Planes of Existence.  
__From the Sevenfold Heavens to the Nine Pits of Hell;  
__From the Endless Waters to the Silvery Void;  
__From the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits of reality itself — and __**beyond.  
**__At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control… the __**Planescape.**_

* * *

**Chapter 6:**** Water and Glass**

As Harry and his friends emerged from the portal, they found themselves in a pub that was decidedly less dingy than the one from which they came. A few of the patrons spared them a glance, then turned their attention back to their drinks. A man and woman wearing black robes and powdered wigs were talking at a nearby table, while two burly men in armor were drinking at the bar with a shackled prisoner sitting between them. Harry saw that many of the patrons were wearing similar armor emblazoned with the symbol of a shining sword pointing down in front of a shield.

Phoebe walked over to the bar and gave a coin to the barman, then motioned for the group to follow her to the door. "It's illegal to charge a toll for the use of a portal," she said, "but it's customary to give the shopkeeper a small payment if you use a portal on their premises without making a purchase."

"Such a payment is often referred to as a _garnish,_" said James, "as in a little something extra on the side. That's a term you'll learn to be quite familiar with once you've spent some time here." He stepped through the pub door and held it open. "A body who's generous with his garnishes will find most Cagers to be very helpful. But don't be _too_ generous, or they'll take you for a Clueless; it's a _garnish, _after all, not the main course."

After stepping through the door, Harry found himself in a large public square. As before, the square was paved with cobblestones, though, here, they looked as if they had been recently swept clean. The square wasn't nearly as crowded as the Great Bazaar; most of the people in the square also seemed to be better dressed. In addition to the usual pedestrians — or, at least, what passed for "usual" in a city shaped like a hollowed-out donut — there were also several people riding in small, ornately decorated enclosures that resembled the passenger compartments of horse-drawn carriages. But, instead of wheels, each of the "carriages" had two long poles attached to the sides, and each pole was being carried on the shoulders of two muscular men. The passengers themselves were as ornately decorated as their conveyances, with gold and jewels dangling from their necks, wrists, and ears.

Most of the people in the crowd were gathered around a large stone building that dominated the square. It reminded Harry of the pictures he'd seen of government buildings in London, with a wide staircase leading up to a stately entranceway flanked by four tall marble pillars. Another wing of the building was attached behind and to the right of the entrance; behind that, a tower rose several stories above the main structure. In the middle of the tower was a circular design that resembled a dagger pointing upward inside a stylized flame.

James held out his arms and made a sweeping gesture. "Welcome, my friends, to The Lady's Ward; the home of Sigil's finest, by which I mean, the _richest._ Within the imposing edifice before us can be found the City Courts, wherein your chances of being set _free_ all depend on the size of your advocate's _fee._"

Phoebe smacked James lightly on the arm. "James, _enough!_ We're trying to give our guests a _positive_ impression here."

Tonks laughed. "Well, it's not as if the same thing doesn't happen in _our_ world. The Malfoys and other rich pureblood families used to buy their way out of trouble all the time." She grinned. "But, thanks to Harry and his friends here, all the gold in Gringotts isn't going to get them off _this_ time. Lucius Malfoy was caught red-handed attacking the Ministry of Magic in full Death Eater regalia."

"That sounds rather strange," said James. "Such a man usually pays others to do his dirty work while providing himself with a well-supported alibi."

Harry shrugged. "Voldemort must have ordered him to go there in person in order to set a trap for me."

Phoebe seemed to have anticipated her husband's likely question. "Apparently, this Voldemort has a personal vendetta against Harry. I'm sure we'll find out more about that at the meeting, so please wait until then to ask; we don't want to make our guests repeat themselves. For now, I'm going to leave a message for my student and take care of some paperwork at the Courts, so I'll meet you back here in precisely one hour and forty-five minutes."

"_Precisely,_ is it?" said James with a smile. He drew a pocketwatch from his waistcoat. "Right, then. If you're not back in precisely six thousand three hundred seconds, we'll leave without you."

Phoebe laughed. "As if you'd actually count them." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you in six-two-nine-zero."

As she walked away towards the court building, James put away his pocketwatch and turned to the group. "Well, it seems we only have a few thousand seconds to take in the sights, so we'd best get going. The Singing Fountain is only a short distance behind the Courts; an oasis that quenches one's thirst for beauty while those who hunger for justice are starved."

He smiled. "Yes, I know my wife doesn't want me to prattle on about that, but I felt that metaphor was just too profound to resist."

Lessia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, as deep as a cesspool and just as full of _crap._"

"Lady Skyleaf, you _wound_ me. That's a _simile, _not a metaphor."

"James, stop trying to impress our guests with your acting. You have a rapier wit; they _get_ it. Enough already!"

Harry laughed. "Is this the kind of routine you perform on stage?"

James shook his head. "Truth be told, I haven't actually done that in years. These days, I do most of my acting on the stages of politics and intrigue." He smiled at Lessia. "Those are _metaphorical_ stages, not literal ones."

Lessia stuck her tongue out at him; James continued. "Of course, that's the real reason I trained as an actor in the first place. The ability to make an audience believe in the role you're playing works just as well when you're playing the role of a Harmonium guard trying to persuade another guard to let you past a secure checkpoint. Not that I'd ever _do_ anything like that, mind you; that's a strictly hypothetical example."

Hermione frowned. "_Hypothetically,_ what would Celeste have to say about that?"

"Why, she'd order the guard to let her pass, of course," replied James. "If I needed something from behind the checkpoint, I'd have her get it for me." He shrugged. "Why would I want to sneak in and risk getting arrested when all I'd have to do is _ask?_"

"Why, indeed?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he turned to Hermione. "Perhaps if one of my best students wished to obtain a book from the Restricted Section of the library, she might ask my permission before resorting to the use of Mr. Potter's invisibility cloak?"

Hermione blushed. "Well… I had a very good reason for that, Professor."

"Of course! And I'm sure I would have agreed, had I but known."

"Ah, but we can't _always_ do the sensible thing, now, can we?" said James. "After all, there's nothing like the lure of the forbidden to set the hearts of the young a-racing."

He turned to Dumbledore. "You might want to look into that at your school. See if you can put a few more rules in place so your students can better enjoy the thrill of breaking them."

Ron laughed. "You should have been there when Umbridge was in charge last year. She put up more rules than anyone's ever _seen!_"

"Hmmm." James frowned. "It would seem this Umbridge has much to answer for." He smiled again. "Of course, she's already made an enemy of Phoebe, so I expect she'll be brought to justice soon enough."

Tonks grinned. "That's if Celeste doesn't get to her first. When she grabbed hold of Umbridge, I thought she was going to break her in half!"

Lessia's mouth fell open in surprise. "She tried to fight _Celeste?_ Oh, wow! I bet _that_ hurt!"

Tonks nodded. "Oh, _yes._ Yes, it did."

James sighed. "You know, there are times when I feel the weight of despair and I begin to doubt the purpose of my life. But, then, my ears perceive something like this and I realize that joy yet abounds in the multiverse."

Lessia elbowed James in the side; he cleared his throat and spoke in a deliberately slow monotone. "I mean… that's interesting. I shall read about it in my wife's official report."

Everyone laughed. Lessia smiled and shook her head. "Oh, all right, James; you win."

He shrugged. "But, of course; I always do."

As the group continued on their way past the courthouse, Harry began to hear some kind of music up ahead. Once the courthouse was behind him, it was obvious to Harry where the music was coming from. The Singing Fountain was a large circular pool with a tall pipe rising up from the center. A vast assortment of metal basins branched out from the pipe like the limbs of a tree; water flowed from the pipe into the upper basins and then spilled into the lower ones. Some of the basins were fixed in place; others tilted back and forth as they filled with water, then emptied. The Fountain's music was unlike anything Harry had heard before; it was as if the natural sounds of flowing water in a river or brook were being played as instruments by a symphony orchestra.

Numerous pigeons flocked around the Fountain, dipping their beaks into it for a refreshing drink or splashing around in the pool for a bath. As the group approached, Harry could see a blonde-haired woman wearing a white feathered cloak leaning over the edge of the pool. She appeared to be fishing pigeon feathers out of the pool with a net attached to a pole. After collecting some feathers, she shook the net to strain the water out of them, then set them down on the cobblestones next to her. She looked up as the group drew closer; Zanton waved to her and called out in greeting.

"Marian! It's good to see you here! We were afraid we'd come too early to experience your talents."

Marian smiled. "Ah, Zanton! Good to see you again!" She gestured at the pigeons. "I decided to get an early start today; the Fountain's been getting a few more feathers in it lately and I want to make sure I can keep up."

Zanton frowned slightly. "No one's trying to sabotage it again, are they?"

"Oh, no; I suspect the pigeon population has simply grown in the last few months."

"Yeah, but, from what I've heard," said Lessia, "you keep opposing plans to cut them down to size. I mean, I know you love wearing their feathers and all, but too many pigeons are a real nuisance."

"Ah, yes," replied Marian. "It's Lessia, right? I am not opposed to reasonable population control, merely the methods proposed for it. The authorities simply wish to poison the birds and dump their remains into the sewers. When children in the Hive are forced to go hungry day after day, I find this to be a completely senseless waste of useful meat."

"You want to serve _pigeons_ to the _poor?_" exclaimed Hermione. "How do you know they're safe to eat?"

"My magic can remove any impurities," said Marian. "Even pigeons killed by poison could be rendered safe. But instead of allowing me to donate them to one of the Hive's soup kitchens, the street sweeping crews simply dispose of them."

James sighed. "Yet another example of government gone wrong. Perhaps my faction could assist you in this matter?"

Marian grinned. "As much as I appreciate your generous offer, Mr. Black, I remember what happened the last time the Revolutionary League tried to raise awareness of hunger."

"I had nothing to do with that; in fact, I wasn't even in town that day. But, you've got to admit, those rich berks knew what it felt like to have empty stomachs!"

"Do we want to know what happened there?" asked Tonks.

James shook his head. "Not right before we have dinner."

"Perhaps now would a good time for me to introduce a famous member of _my_ faction," said Zanton. "This is Black Marian, keeper of the Singing Fountain and fellow member of the Believers of the Source." He turned to Marian. "We've brought some new friends from the Material Plane who are experiencing the wonders of Sigil for the first time. Naturally, my first thought was to bring them to see you."

Marian laughed. "Such flattery. The Singing Fountain may be a wonder of Sigil, but I am merely its humble caretaker."

"She is humble, but she is indeed a wonder," said Zanton. "Marian, if you would please do us the honour of brightening our day with a tune?"

"Why, of course!"

Marian smiled and stood with her back facing the Fountain. She held out her arms and began to sing. The song was in a language Harry didn't understand, though, for some reason, it seemed strangely familiar. For the next minute or so, Marian's voice rang out with crystal-clear tones which resonated in perfect harmony with the music of the Fountain. Even by itself, the song would have been beautiful, but the combined effect was truly amazing.

As the song concluded, Harry and the others applauded, as did a few passers-by who had stopped to listen. Two of them tossed a few silver coins at Marian's feet; as she picked them up, she rewarded the givers with a wide, friendly smile. "Thank you, my friends; your contributions are much appreciated."

"Well, now," said James. "I think that song deserves a better reward than that!" He reached into his pocket and gave Marian a single coin. It looked silvery, but not quite the same as the other silver coins.

As Marian accepted it, her eyebrows rose. "Platinum! You are most generous, Mr. Black."

James shrugged. "Think of it as a more _civilised_ Anarchist contribution to hunger awareness."

"That was a wonderful song!" said Ginny. "What language was that?"

"It was Asgardian, the language of the Aesir and their followers. It's a traditional hymn to Bragi, god of poets and skalds."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "Wait a minute. Aren't the Aesir the Norse gods like Odin and Thor?"

"That is correct." Marian smiled. "While Bragi may not be as well-known as All-Father Odin himself, he is still very important. After all, how could any of the Powers be well-known if it weren't for the songs and stories of the skalds?"

"But… but how can that _be?_" stammered Hermione. "The Norse gods were worshipped centuries ago on Earth!"

"It's not really so surprising, Hermione," said Zanton. "The Asgardian religion is quite popular and practised on many different worlds. It does, however, suggest that your world may not be as isolated from the planes as we thought. We'll have to see what Phoebe has to say about that."

"So your faction is called the Believers of the Source?" said Harry. "And what do they believe in? Apart from the Source, that is."

Zanton chuckled. "We believe that all things in the multiverse originate from one cosmic Source, though the nature of this Source is unknown. Through the choices we make in overcoming the trials and difficulties in our lives, we progress along a path of personal evolution that increases our wisdom and understanding, thus bringing us ever-closer to becoming one with the Source once more."

He paused. "While that might seem a bit abstract, the basic idea is that the challenges you face in your life are opportunities for personal advancement. Adversity can refine the soul much as the heat of a forge refines metal. That's why our headquarters in Sigil is the Great Foundry; it's symbolic and practical at the same time. Of course, it's all not about negative experiences; it can also be about personal achievements such as climbing a mountain or researching a new spell. In fact, it's always better to seek out new challenges to improve yourself rather than simply waiting for things to happen."

Harry nodded. "So, basically, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?"

"Well, we also believe in reincarnation, so sometimes what _does_ kill you works as well."

Harry laughed. "Now, _there's_ a thought. Even if Voldemort does manage to kill me, I could just come back as a house-elf and defeat him then."

"A _female_ house-elf," said Hermione. "The point of reincarnation is to come back as something _better._"

The group broke out in laughter. Zanton smiled at Harry. "Hopefully, _this_ life lasts long enough for you to reach the next rung on the evolutionary ladder."

"And what would that be?" asked Harry.

"Hard to say," replied Zanton. "I'd have to get an idea of your current position first. But, for now, perhaps Marian could favour us with a demonstration of her _other_ famous talent?"

Marian grinned. "Since you're paying in platinum, how can I refuse?" She gestured at the group. "The talent to which Zanton refers is Bragi's gift of divination. Through his blessing, I have been given the power to divine the near future of any being who partakes of the Fountain's waters. However, as I am but a humble servant, the knowledge he bestows upon me is limited. I can only predict a single event per person that will happen sometime within the next few weeks. Until that event either comes to pass or is avoided, I cannot make another prediction for that individual."

Hermione frowned uncertainly. "So, you're saying you can actually make _prophecies?_"

"I think the term 'prophecy' is a bit excessive to describe what I do," replied Marian. "I can't make the big predictions about fate or destiny, only little things like what you should do to make sure your next business meeting goes smoothly. Of course, I should also point out that divination is an art, not a science. Some predictions are difficult to interpret and may not be of much practical value."

James smiled at Hermione's skeptical expression. "I realize this sort of thing may be a bit difficult to believe. We Anarchists know all about the tricks of fortune-telling hucksters who make predictions so vague, they could mean anything. However, I assure you that Marian is indeed the genuine article. Her vatic gifts are renowned throughout the City of Doors."

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, in any case, I think I'll pass on any predictions about myself. I haven't exactly had the best experiences with them lately."

Ron patted him on the shoulder. "Why don't I give it a try instead, mate?" Harry nodded; Ron turned to Marian. "So, er, how exactly does this work? Can I get a prediction about anything I want?"

"Anything that's likely to happen in the next few weeks," said Marian, "though it must directly involve you in some way."

She removed a silver ladle from her belt and dipped it into the Fountain. "Simply state your question, then take a sip of this water. Once you do, music similar to the Fountain's will begin to emerge from your mouth. Do not be alarmed; it will only last a few moments. Bragi's gift allows me to convert the musical notes into words within my mind; these words will form the prediction you seek. Thanks to Mr. Black's generous donation, I shall grant your group three predictions today; after that, I'm afraid I must attend to my other customers."

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. We don't wish to monopolise your time."

Ron eyed the ladle warily. "Is it safe to drink that with all the pigeons taking a bath in there?"

Marian laughed. "It will be once I have purified it for you." She traced her finger in a circle over the ladle and spoke a few magic words. The water in the ladle glowed momentarily, then returned to normal. "Now, then; what would you like to know about?"

Ron frowned in concentration. "Er… let's see, here… when's the next time I'll be attacked by Death Eaters?" He shook his head. "No, wait; I could get attacked by something else, or maybe something could just fall on my head."

He paused, then took a deep breath. "All right. When's the next time I'll be in immediate danger?"

Marian nodded. "A very popular question, but one that can easily be misleading. Remember that you still possess free will; if you were to deliberately place yourself in danger, that would be considered avoiding the prediction.

She smiled. "In other words, if you throw yourself off a cliff, don't blame me for failing to predict it."

Ron laughed. "All right, then." He took a sip of water from the ladle; at once, watery music began to play. Ron's eyes widened in astonishment; his lips began moving frantically, yet only the music emerged from his mouth. After a few seconds, the music faded away, leaving Ron's voice to shout, _"…ell! Bloody hell!"_

Once he realized the music had stopped, he grinned sheepishly. "Oh. Well, that wasn't so bad!"

"It was more pleasant than what _normally_ comes out of your mouth," said Hermione.

"Well, here is your prediction, young man," said Marian. "I hope it will give you an adequate warning."

_When a dark pie is served at the end of a meal,  
__the dark robes will attack with a desperate zeal._

Ron blinked in surprise. "Well… that wasn't _quite_ what I expected." He chuckled. "I guess I'll have to start eating cake for dessert, then!"

Hermione frowned. "Ron, this is not a laughing matter! If this prediction is true, Death Eaters are going to _attack_ you!"

"Yeah, but they would have done anyway, wouldn't they? At least now, we have some idea of when it's going to happen."

"Yes, but…" Hermione sighed. "I find it hard to believe that your safety depends on your choice of _dessert!_"

"If I may," interrupted Marian, "I would like to point out that it doesn't really work that way. If you serve a different dessert because of the prediction, it will simply remove the warning; it will not prevent or delay your enemies from attacking."

"Well, then, what should we do?" asked Hermione.

"My suggestion would be to make sure whoever serves your dessert is unaware of the prediction," said Marian. "That way, the warning will not be compromised."

"But, we can ask what they're going to serve in advance, can't we?" asked Ron. "As long as we don't ask them to change it, right?" Marian nodded.

"Well, all _right,_ then!" Ron grinned. "If any Death Eaters try and attack _me,_ they're going to get a big fat _pie_ in the face!"

Harry laughed. "You said it, mate! Maybe Fred and George could whip up a little something _special_ for them."

"_Now_ you're talking!" said Ginny. "Those Death Eaters won't even stand a _chance!_"

"As amusing as the idea is," said Dumbledore, "I'm afraid Mr. Weasley will require more substantial protection than a bit of slapstick comedy. As the Burrow has already been equipped with the strongest magical defences available, I think it would be best for him to remain there until the school year begins."

His eyes twinkled as he smiled at Ron. "You are, of course, still welcome to attend tonight's meeting at Hogwarts. I shall have to inquire of the house-elves if any form of pie is on the menu."

"Do you think we should tell Mum about this?" asked Ginny.

"We should inform her of a potential threat that is likely to strike within the next few weeks," said Dumbledore. "I shall also ask Severus to look into the matter. In the meantime, however, I believe we still have two more predictions, so let us not waste this opportunity."

Ginny held up her hand. "Can I get the next one? If Ron's going to be attacked, then I'll probably be with him."

"Of course, my dear," said Dumbledore.

Ginny turned to Marian. "Can I ask who's going to attack the Burrow? That's the name of our family's house."

"You are his sister, then?" asked Marian. Ginny nodded.

Marian frowned. "You could, but I don't think it's likely to give you the results you desire. Your brother may or may not be attacked at home, and you may or may not be with him at the time. In fact, based on past experience, I don't really think it's likely that any of you will be able to narrow it down for him. Multiple predictions can almost never be made about the same event."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Yes, that does concur with what little I know on the subject of divination. Perhaps a more indirect approach to the problem might work better."

"Maybe I could do it," said Tonks. "What do you think, Albus? I could ask a question about arresting a Death Eater."

"By all means, my dear."

Tonks turned to Marian. "All right. These Death Eaters we've been talking about are a criminal organization where we come from. What is the safest opportunity I'll have to arrest one of them?"

Marian refilled the ladle and purified the water. Tonks took a sip and began to "sing" a sprightly tune; once it was finished, Marian announced her prediction.

_An Eater of Death will be shortly in sight;  
__The Bisected Snake will not put up a fight._

"The bisected snake?" Tonks frowned in confusion. "Well, a snake obviously means a Slytherin, which is no surprise for a Death Eater. But 'bisected'? That means 'cut in half', doesn't it? I can't figure out who _that_ could possibly refer to. If someone cut a Death Eater in half, they'd be _dead,_ not arrested."

Hermione suddenly laughed. "I can't _believe_ it! It's just a play on words! 'Bisected' could also mean 'severed'!"

"Oh, my God. Severus _Snape?_" Tonks chuckled ruefully. "Well, I guess it would be pretty safe for me to arrest him with the entire Order watching. But I was kind of hoping for someone who wasn't actually an Order _member._"

"Hang on," said Harry sharply. "Does that mean Snape is still loyal to the Death Eaters?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," said Dumbledore. He turned to Marian. "To clarify, Severus Snape is a former member of the Death Eaters who is currently serving as a spy against them. My friends and I will be meeting with him tonight to discuss today's… _adventure._"

Marian shook her head. "In that case, the prediction was simply taking the path of least resistance. Nothing can be meaningfully inferred about his current loyalties from that."

Tonks shook her head. "Now I see what you mean about this not being a science. After all, I _did_ get exactly what I asked for."

"And that is why one should not rely too much on such things," said Marian. "My predictions can serve as useful hints for the future, but they cannot give you all the answers."

"Wise words," said Dumbledore. "In any case, it seems we have but one prediction left. I hope no one minds if I take the last one?"

Tonks laughed. "Well, you certainly couldn't do any worse than me!"

Dumbledore smiled, then turned to Marian. "Where might I find the Diadem of Ravenclaw?"

The music from Dumbledore's mouth seemed somewhat more subdued and in a lower pitch than the previous two times. When it came to a stop, Marian turned to Dumbledore and frowned.

"Unfortunately, I am unable to answer your question. Either the item you seek no longer exists, or it is shielded against magical detection."

"Ah," sighed Dumbledore. "It was a bit of a long shot, I admit, but I figured it was at least worth the attempt."

"The Diadem of Ravenclaw, Professor?" said Hermione. "I thought that had been lost for centuries."

"It is lost, yet it may still be found," replied Dumbledore. "Though it seems I shall have to do so the old-fashioned way."

"Well, Hermione, I trust your scepticism has been assuaged," said James. "Despite being unable to answer that last question, Marian was aware of information about your Professor Snape that none of us were privy to. Even if we'd somehow sent her a message about a name Professor Dumbledore only mentioned once before in our presence, neither we nor Marian had any way of knowing about his criminal past."

Hermione nodded. "I suppose that's true. Phoebe's really the only one who _could_ have done it since she was the only one out of our sight, and I don't believe she'd do anything dishonest like that."

"Ah, but how do you _know_ that?" said James slyly. "After all, she _is_ married to an Anarchist, and _we're_ all as dishonest as they come."

"Oh, come on." Hermione put her hands on her hips. "If you were really so dishonest, you wouldn't have _said_ so, would you?"

"Oh, yeah? I'll have you know that _everything_ I say is a lie, including _this!_"

Hermione and James paused, then broke out in laughter. At the sight of Harry and Ron's confused expressions, Hermione began laughing so hard, she started crying.

Ron cast an annoyed glance at her. "All right; what's so bleedin' funny?"

Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes, then took a deep breath. "Ron, do you know what a paradox is?"

"Well… it's something that contradicts itself, isn't it? Like something that's both true and false at the same t…" He shook his head and chuckled. "Oh, right. _Now_ I get it. If everything he says is a lie, then he can't very well say _that,_ now, can he?"

Hermione smiled. "Well, I guess there's hope for you yet, Ron." She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

James let out a soft sigh. "Ah. There's nothing quite like young… _hope._"

He smiled knowingly at Ron and Hermione's embarrassed expressions, then clapped his hands together loudly, startling them. "_Well!_ I think we've taken up enough of Marian's time. Thank you so much for your music and predictions; they were, of course, as exquisite as always."

Marian nodded. "You're quite welcome."

"Good day to you, Marian," said Zanton. "May your path lead you ever to the Source."

"And to you as well, Zanton. May your next life be your last."

As the group walked away from the Fountain, Tonks turned to Zanton. "Why would she say your next life should be your _last?_ That sounds kind of ominous."

"Only if you're not a Believer," said Zanton. "If you're on your last life, it means you no longer need to be reincarnated because you've completed your spiritual journey and are about to become one with the Source. We say your _next_ life because it's considered arrogant to believe that your _current_ life will be your last. I mean, I'd like to think I've made _some_ progress in this life, but I know I've still got a long way to go."

Tonks chuckled and shook her head. "Your faction sounds too complicated for me. Is there one whose beliefs are a bit simpler?"

James smiled. "If you want _simple,_ try the Harmonium. They believe that peace and harmony can only be achieved if everyone agrees that the Harmonium is _right._ If they _don't,_ sometimes the liberal application of a truncheon to the skull can be a powerful force of persuasion."

"Oh, come on! You're not suggesting Celeste would do something like that!"

"No, but that's because she knows things _aren't_ as simple as her faction officially portrays them. The problem is, far too many people join the Harmonium because they _want_ simple. They want to obey orders and leave the thinking to their superiors. And, if those superiors are corrupt, well, it's not their place to ask questions."

James chuckled. "Yes, I know I'm painting them with a broad brush. I'm an Anarchist; it's my job. Truth is, just as some Hardheads want to divide the multiverse into police and criminals, some Anarchists want to divide it into oppressors and oppressed. It's simple; it gets the recruits in the door. But, after that, simple is a temptation best avoided, no matter which faction you choose."

Tonks raised her hands in mock surrender. "All right, all right! Can I least get a faction that's easy to _start_ with?"

"That would be the Free League," said Lessia. "All you've got to do to join us is declare you won't let anyone tell you what to do or think, and then buy a round of drinks for your new fellow Indeps."

"I don't know," said Tonks with a grin. "Buying a round of _drinks?_ I don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment."

Harry laughed. "So, what's next on our tour for today? Is there a Dancing Fountain around here as well?"

"I don't think that would be very popular," said James with a smile. "The rich wouldn't like having water splashed all over their expensive silks."

He stroked his chin in thought as he glanced back and forth at the group. "Hmmm… it just occurred to me that we're not properly dressed for most of the establishments in this ward." He glanced down at himself. "Well, at least _you_ lot aren't, anyway."

James clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. "What would you say if we were to take a spontaneous excursion to a place my wife might not, strictly speaking, recommend?"

"Oh, and I suppose you don't want us to tell her about it?" said Tonks.

"On the contrary," replied James. "I'll be more than happy to tell her myself. It's just that it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission, particularly when you're an Anarchist and your wife's a Guvner."

Tonks shrugged. "Fine with me, as long as _you're_ the one asking forgiveness."

"Just what is this mysterious place that your lovely wife might not, strictly speaking, recommend?" asked Dumbledore.

"Nothing special," replied James. "Just a little place called the Brothel."

Harry's mouth fell open in shock. As he looked back and forth at the others, he saw that Hermione and Ginny looked outraged while Ron looked strangely conflicted. Dumbledore merely raised his eyebrows, while Tonks chuckled and shook her head.

"All right, I _know_ there has to be some kind of catch to this. There is no way you would seriously suggest taking teenage boys to a _brothel_ right in front of their _headmaster._"

"Right you are, my dear," said James. "This is no common den of iniquity where the wicked go to slake their fevered lusts. No, this establishment is the only one of its kind in the known multiverse; the Brothel for Slaking _Intellectual_ Lusts."

Hermione glared at him. "_Intellectual_ lusts? Just what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come now. Surely someone who sneaks into the Restricted Section of the library has tasted the seductive lure of forbidden knowledge."

Hermione's face turned bright red; James laughed. "I know; I'm being utterly horrible. Forgive me. You have to admit, though, that was just too good to pass up."

He chuckled again. "But, seriously; I can assure all of you that no sex of any kind takes place under the roof of _this_ Brothel. Indeed, the house rules prohibit any physical contact more intimate than a simple hug. Instead, the ladies there are highly trained in indulging the pleasures of the _mind._ For example, one might engage them in a philosophical debate, or perhaps discuss the merits of a famous work of literature."

He glanced at Ron. "One might even challenge them to a stimulating game of _chess._ Surely, even your headmaster would have no objection to _that._"

"No," said Dumbledore, "but I would question why an establishment where sex was prohibited would be referred to as a _brothel._" His eyes twinkled with amusement. "That would seem to be what the Muggles would call 'false advertising.'"

"Well, you see, the women employed there are all highly attractive," said James. "Despite the fact that their services are of a solely intellectual nature, their attire — or, rather, the partial lack thereof — might mislead first-time patrons to mistake them for what one might refer to as their less refined counterparts."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "In other words, they _dress_ like prostitutes."

James shrugged. "True, but I like _my_ words better."

"So, James," said Tonks, "what you're saying is that men pay to be in the company of attractive, scantily-clad young women and… play _chess?_" James smiled and nodded. "Well, if it's not about sex, what's the point of having them dressed like that? And are there any scantily-clad _men_ at this establishment?"

"If _only._" Lessia sighed. "I've told Grace she needs to hire somebody like Zanton. Just imagine him flexing the muscles on his bare chest before placing the last piece on the board and saying in that deep, masculine voice of his, _'Checkmate.'_"

Zanton rolled his eyes. "As you can see, Lessia's favourite lusts aren't quite so _intellectual._"

"Hey, I _am_ a master trapsmith. That takes _plenty_ of intelligence! Although, inserting a pick into a lock _is_ kind of suggestive."

"Now, now," said James. "That's quite enough of that. We are, after all, in mixed company here."

He turned to Tonks. "To answer your question, it's because Fall-From-Grace, the proprietress of the Brothel, is a member of a faction called the Society of Sensation. The Sensates, as they are called, believe that knowledge and wisdom can only be gained through the stimulation of the five senses, and Grace always ensures that her ladies are a delight for the senses of sight, sound, and smell. When it comes to taste, the finest teas and confections are provided, and for touch, one can luxuriate amidst the richest silks and satins."

"What kind of name is 'Fall-From-Grace'?" said Ron.

"A name she chose for herself," said James. "She was cast out of her home plane and subjected to much pain and sorrow, so the name reflects her feelings of loss. Of course, now, she's a lot more content with her life, so most people just call her Grace."

"Hmmm…" Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought. "What you've described is similar to a type of establishment on Earth called a geisha house. The geisha are women who are professionally trained to entertain patrons with traditional Japanese art forms, and they, too, are often mistaken for prostitutes by the culturally misinformed."

He smiled. "Why, that sounds like a wonderful place to bring my young students! After all, the purpose of education is to stimulate the intellect."

"That's as may be, but I'm still not sure it's wise to bring two adolescent boys to that place," said Zanton. "Don't forget, James, that they have never seen a being like Grace before; her presence might be more than a little overwhelming."

"Perhaps, but that's the whole point of the Brothel; to control one's senses rather than be controlled _by_ them."

"And I suppose you could do that when you were their age?"

"After a while." James smiled. "But you can't have a 'while' without a first time."

Tonks frowned in confusion. "OK, what are you guys talking about? What sort of being _is_ this Grace, anyway?"

"Well, while all the ladies at the Brothel are indeed visions of loveliness, Grace's beauty transcends the boundaries of mere human pulchritude," said James. "She is a type of supernatural being called a tanar'ri whose purpose is to display the maximal level of physical attractiveness."

Zanton smiled. "And if one were to dispense with James's florid vocabulary, one might say our boys here will likely take one look at her and drool like dogs."

Ron's face turned red again. "Oi! I'm not an _animal!_"

Ginny smirked at him. "Then why do you keep staring at Fleur like a little lost puppy? Woof! Woof!"

"Hey, men may be dogs, but it's always good to have a nice, big, warm one curled up at your feet," said Lessia. "With a little work, you can even train them to fetch you some diamonds."

At that, all the females present broke out in laughter. James smiled knowingly at them and shook his head. "Laugh while you can, ladies, because once _you_ get a look at Mistress Grace, your hearts will be burned to a crisp by the green flames of envy."

"Don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick?" said Tonks. "I mean, no one could possibly look _that_ good."

"No one on _Earth,_" replied James. "But that, of course, is the purpose of this visit: to expand your minds and broaden your horizons."

"Wait a minute," said Hermione. "Celeste mentioned that the warehouse was once attacked by a horde of rampaging tanar'ri. Forgive me, but that doesn't sound like the sort of being known for its extreme _beauty._"

James chuckled. "Well, the term 'tanar'ri' is a rather broad classification. You're right; the ones that come in hordes are as ugly as they are vicious. Grace and other tanar'ri like her are not warriors; one might say they specialise in… public relations."

He gestured at the group. "Now, if you'll please follow me, I know a portal that will take us to within two blocks of our destination. The Brothel is in the Clerk's Ward, not far from the Sensates' headquarters. Now, _that_ is definitely a place worth seeing, but it would take at least a day to do it justice. We'll have to arrange a week-long 'grand tour' at some point so that all of you can really immerse yourselves in the Cage."

"Can we bring our brooms with us next time?" asked Harry. "That would be a lot faster than walking."

"Brooms?" asked James. "I'm sorry; I don't quite follow."

"Oh! Sorry. Wizards from our world ride flying brooms as a method of transportation."

James's eyes lit up in comprehension. "Ah, yes! I have heard of such things, though they're not commonly used here. Most wizards like Phoebe simply cast a spell on themselves if they wish to fly."

"Really?" said Harry. "I know that's one thing our type of magic can't do."

"Yes, well, let's save the technical discussions until Phoebe returns, shall we? In any case, I don't see any reason you couldn't bring your brooms, though I would advise against attempting to fly directly across the city." James pointed up at the other side of Sigil. "It would be quite easy to become disoriented when the gravity changes direction at the centre, and if you were to fall, it would be about three miles to the ground."

He made a downward gesture and whistled. "Still, on a clear day, it would be quite the view from up there. Never tried it myself, actually. I'll have to look into that."

After walking several blocks away from the fountain, Harry and the others found themselves in front of a small shop. Though the buildings on either side of it were made of brick and wood, the storefront appeared to be made almost entirely of glass. Even the sign proclaiming it to be "The Glass House" was made of stained glass in an ornate metal frame. Through the storefront, Harry could see glass shelves that held a number of different kinds of glass sculptures. In front of the shop stood a large glass statue that glittered as the light reflected off its many facets. It was shaped like a fully armored knight, except that its lower arms were shaped like hammers. As the group approached, Harry saw that the statue wasn't as statuesque as it appeared; its head turned to follow him as he got closer.

Instead of entering the shop, however, James stopped in front of it and turned around to face the group. "The portal we seek can be found in the small alleyway to the right of the shop." Harry could see there was a narrow space between the shop and one of the buildings next to it; a faint blue glow shone from within.

"The key, however, is a good example of how unusual a portal key can be," continued James. "You need to make a slashing motion with a piece of freshly broken glass, meaning it must be broken no more than one minute before using it. I think you'll all agree that it's rather fortunate for such a portal to be next to a _glass_ shop, now, isn't it?"

He smiled. "Now, the return key is a bit more forgiving; you can use another piece of the same broken item you used the first time. But you can't make a key by taking some broken glass and breaking it _again;_ the original item must be intact before you break it."

"Blimey!" said Ron. "These portals sure sound complicated."

James shrugged. "Some are even more complicated than that, but most of them are much simpler. The ones that lead to a different part of the city tend to be more complicated than average, which is why most people don't use them despite their value as shortcuts. Fortunately — "

"_**You there!"**_

Harry saw a thin man with short blond hair and spectacles standing in the shop's doorway. He was wearing a leather apron over his clothes with several pockets containing various tools. A glass tube of some kind was in his right hand, with which he gestured emphatically at the group as he approached. It was obvious from his expression and tone of voice that he was not at all happy to see them.

"What are you ruffians doing here?" He pointed at the magical glass statue. "Disperse at once, or I'll set my golem on you!"

"_Ruffians?" _said James. "My good man, we happen to be _customers!_"

"Not in _my_ shop, you're not!" snarled the shopkeeper. "You're here to smash my beautiful art just so you can use that cursed portal!"

James sighed. "I am aware of the portal adjacent to your shop; however, I'm insulted that you would accuse a respectable gentleman of being a common vandal."

The shopkeeper scoffed and gestured at the group. "What about them? They don't look so respectable to me!"

"Looks can be deceiving, sir." James put his right arm around Ron's shoulder. "For your information, this young lad happens to be the son of my client who's one of the wealthiest merchants in all of England."

Ron glanced at James with a surprised expression on his face. _"What?"_

"Look, I know you don't want me to go around telling everyone about that, but sometimes you have to let these people know who they're dealing with." James turned back to the shopkeeper. "Have you any idea how much gold his father could spend here? He could buy this entire shop like _that!_"

James snapped his fingers. "And since I was here on business anyway, I _thought_ I could just bring his son here to look at your merchandise and purchase a small sample for inspection. But, if you're going to be _difficult_ about it, well, I don't think you're the _only_ glassblower in the Cage."

He turned to Ron. "Come along, William. We're leaving."

As they turned around, Ron mouthed _"William?"_ silently to Harry. But, before they could take more than a few steps, the shopkeeper spoke.

"Wait! Please, sir, I… I didn't mean to be rude. I apologise for my, er… _mistaken_ assumption." He put the glass tube in his pocket and wrung his hands. "It's just that ever since that portal appeared, my shop has been _beset_ by common ruffians who think nothing of destroying my art! I'm sure you can understand, sir, how an artist like myself would find such a prospect distressing."

James frowned. "Surely, you are well-defended against such thieves. Can your golem not apprehend them?"

The shopkeeper blushed slightly. "Well, sir, they're… they're not _thieves_ as such. I admit they do purchase the items they destroy. But, as an artist, I envision my works gracing the mantelpieces of discriminating buyers who will admire their beauty for years to come. I don't envision them being dashed to the ground before my very eyes!"

James glanced back at Harry and rolled his eyes, then turned back to the shopkeeper. "Well, you can rest assured, sir, that my client is most certainly a man of discriminating tastes. Why, he routinely spends tens of thousands of gold pieces just to send me on these little expeditions!"

He smiled. "I'm afraid we don't have time for a detailed perusal of your merchandise today. For now, I'd just like to purchase something small so that we can get an idea of the quality of your craftsmanship."

The shopkeeper's face brightened. "Oh, of course, sir, of course! I can assure you that every item in this shop is of the highest quality, without exception, regardless of size or price."

"Yes, let's talk about price," said James. He gestured at an item on one of the front shelves. "That little vase in the middle, there. How much for that?"

The shopkeeper glanced at it uncertainly. "Well, sir, I'd say that would be… ten gold?"

James laughed. "_Ten gold?_ First you take me for a vandal, now you take me for a Clueless! A piddling vase like that? Ten _silver,_ more likely."

At that, the shopkeeper seemed to gain more courage. "Now, look here; we both know it's worth more than that. I'm not a Clueless either, sir."

"No, of course not." James shrugged. "I'll tell you what; I really don't have time to stand here and haggle all day, so why don't we just call it five gold and leave it at that, shall we?" He removed the coins from his pocket. "Now, be a good man and bring us our purchase, please."

The shopkeeper went inside and retrieved the vase. As he brought it out, he suddenly hesitated. "Now… you're really not just going to break this, are you? I mean, this is not just my work; it's my _life._"

"Not to worry," said James calmly. "You have my word as a gentleman that I shall neither drop this vase, nor work magic on it, nor strike it, nor even use it to strike something else."

The shopkeeper seemed relieved. "Oh. All right, then." He handed James the vase while James handed him the coins.

"Thank you, my good man," said James. "A pleasure doing business with you."

"You as well, sir," said the shopkeeper. He smiled slightly. "I'm sure young William's father will be pleased."

"Oh, I would have no doubt of that," said James cheerfully as the shopkeeper went back inside.

As soon as the door was closed, James laughed. "That is, if such a person actually existed."

He gestured to the right. "Let's move out of our good shopkeeper's line of sight before entering the alley. Don't worry; the golem has no intelligence, so it can't give us away."

As the group moved away from the shop, Ron turned to James with a bewildered expression. "What was all _that_ about? Why'd you say my name was William?"

"You shouldn't let random people on the street know your real name," replied James. "It's better to use an alias in casual conversation. And, forgive me, but 'Ron' doesn't quite sound like the firstborn son of a wealthy client."

Ginny laughed. "He's the _first_born son, now, is he?"

"Oh, of course. This alias is designed to make him seem important, and the firstborn is the one who inherits his father's title."

Ron shook his head in confusion. "_Title?_ You didn't even _say_ anything about me being the firstborn!"

"It's all in _how_ you say things, Ron," said James. He gestured at the shop. "I made him _assume_ it."

"That's going to cause a bit of confusion," said Ginny. "Our oldest brother's name is William."

"Well, there you are, then! If William really _is_ the firstborn, it'll be easier to remember!" James stroked his chin, then turned back to Ron. "But there should be something distinctive as well. Ah, yes. You are William the Fourth, son of William the Third, the Earl of Preston."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, my God. Ron is an _earl?_"

"Not _yet;_ only after his fictional father dies."

Hermione shook her head. "And I suppose the Fourth is there to make it seem like he comes from a long line?"

"Exactly," said James, "though I never really appreciated that particular noble practice. What's the point of _having_ a first name if it's the same as all your ancestors? No originality, these nobles! If I adopted a son, I could call him Quirk the square root of 547! No, then, everyone will think _Phoebe_ named him. Hmmm. This _is_ confusing, isn't it?"

Everyone laughed, but James quickly motioned for them to be quiet. "Not so loud. If that poor berk hears us laughing, he might just snap under the strain."

He led the group into the narrow alley. Harry could now see that there was a thick wooden beam going from one side of the alley to the other about two meters above the ground; the blue glow outlined the bottom of the beam as well the sides and floor of the alley below it.

James stopped just short of the beam, then held the vase up to his mouth. "Now, you may think I was simply lying about my promise. Not quite. The _best_ lies are the ones that are technically true."

He took a deep breath, then let out a loud, high-pitched hum. The vase began to vibrate, then shattered.

"Marvellous!" said Dumbledore. "I've heard of such things, but I'd never actually seen it done."

"Hang on," said Ron. "You promised you weren't going to use magic."

"That wasn't magic, Ron," said Hermione, "or, should I say, Your Lordship." She smiled. "A well-trained voice can shatter glass with the right note. I suspect Mr. Black has been waiting for the right moment to show that off."

"Well, I _was _going to do it right in front of the shopkeeper," said James, "but I couldn't. I wouldn't have just shattered the glass; I'd have broken his _heart._"

He picked up a shard of broken glass with a handkerchief, then wrapped it up and put it in his pocket. "All right. This portal should stay open long enough for all us if we move quickly." He held up the broken bottom of the vase. "Are you ready? One… two… three!"

James slashed the broken glass through the air, causing the space below the beam to glow brightly. As he disappeared through the portal, Harry and the others quickly followed.

* * *

In 2nd Edition **ADnD, **Black Marian was a cleric, but, in **Pathfinder, **I think she works better as an oracle, like Zanton. Oracles use Charisma as their primary ability score and the Perform (sing) skill uses it as well, so it makes sense that a character renowned for her singing would have a top-shelf Charisma score and a class that can take advantage of it. Besides, the Believers of the Source are all about finding divine potential in oneself, and oracles fit that concept better than clerics do.

In the video game **Planescape: Torment, **Fall-From-Grace was also a cleric, and she remains so under the **Pathfinder **rules. (A 12th-level cleric, to be precise.) In **Torment,** her signature spell was _call lightning, _but that spell isn't on the cleric list for **DnD** 3.5 or **Pathfinder.** However, a **Pathfinder** cleric with the Weather domain can not only prepare _call lightning_ as a domain spell, she can also call multiple lightning bolts at once as her 8th-level domain ability. Problem solved!


	8. Chapter 7: AH, THE TANAR'RI

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY  
****A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover  
**

**This story and all original materials are © 2012 Rick Summon.****  
**_**Harry Potter**_** and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.  
**_**Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, **_**and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.  
**_**Pathfinder **_**and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.  
**_**Planescape: Torment**_** and all related materials are © and ® Black Isle Studios.**

* * *

There is one small difficulty that cannot be avoided when writing a story such as this — there are no rules for a **Harry Potter** roleplaying game. Why not? Who knows? Maybe JK thinks roleplaying games are evil. (I'm kidding, of course; the _true_ evil is how much those Chocolate Frogs cost at Universal Studios. And they don't even _move!_ What a rip-off!) Without any game statistics for Harry and his friends and enemies, how can I determine — just to name one example — whether or not Umbridge would survive if Phoebe cast a _lightning bolt_ at her?

Now, obviously, I'm not going to create an entirely new roleplaying game just to write a story. However, I can come up with some basic numbers using this simple rule: a Hogwarts student who can pass his Nth year exams is an Nth-level character. That is, if a student has just completed his first year at Hogwarts, he's a 1st-level character; if he's an average student who just graduated from Hogwarts, he's a 7th-level character. Dumbledore and Voldemort are the most powerful wizards in their world, so they're 20th level. Harry and his friends are more powerful than their year would indicate because of all the experience they've gained. We know Hermione could do NEWT-level magic in her 5th year, so, in this story, she's 7th level. Harry should be at least 8th level because he's the hero, while Ron… sorry, pal, but you _know_ you're not as powerful as Hermione. Still, 6th level is nothing to sneeze at; your peers are still stuck at 5th, after all.

OK, but what do these levels _mean?_ An Nth-level **HP** wizard (which I'll refer to as a "wandmage" to avoid confusion) has the same hit points, base saving throws, and base attack bonus as an Nth-level **Pathfinder** wizard; though, of course, their magical abilities are completely different. Along with the six basic ability scores of Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma, these are all the numbers I need to run combats.

Now, keep in mind that these levels aren't really equivalent to the levels of actual **Pathfinder** characters. A 10th-level **Pathfinder** wizard like Phoebe could turn herself into a fire elemental or a stegosaurus; even Dumbledore would be astounded by such power. On the other hand, even a 1st-level wandmage can cast _Petrificus Totalus_ and completely paralyze her target. Such a spell would be very powerful in **Pathfinder** because a paralyzed target is vulnerable to a _coup de grace._ (Fortunately for Harry, Draco didn't know that, otherwise the _Half-Blood Prince_ would have been a really short book.)

But what about first year students? What stats do they have if they haven't even reached 1st level yet? For them, we turn to a third-party supplemental book concerning "apprentice-level" characters. Basically, apprentices have half a level, which means their base statistics are half of a 1st-level character's. For example, a 1st-level wandmage has 6 hit points plus his Constitution modifier; therefore, an apprentice-level wandmage has 3 hit points plus _half_ his Con modifier. There are a number of other details, but that's the general idea.

Next, we need to figure out the game effects of **HP** spells. While the precise magical abilities of a wandmage are not easily quantifiable, the effects of the spells themselves are much simpler. Take _Stupefy, _for example; it simply knocks the target unconscious. In **Pathfinder, **a spell that directly affects your physical body usually allows a Fortitude saving throw to resist its effects. The player rolls a d20 (a twenty-sided die), adds his character's Fortitude bonus to the result, then compares the total to the Difficulty Class (or DC) of the spell. If the total is equal to or greater than the DC, the target is either unaffected or suffers a lesser effect; if not, the spell has its full effect.

The DC of a spell is equal to 10 + the spell's level + the caster's ability modifier; wizards use their Intelligence modifier, while wandmages should probably use Charisma since Harry's spells tend to pack a greater "punch" than Hermione's. Now, **HP** spells don't have "levels" as such, but we can make one up based on how powerful the effect is; for _Stupefy, _I'll say it's 4th level. So, now, we have everything we need to determine whether or not a **Pathfinder** character can be Stunned;since that's one of the most common **HP** spells, that makes things a lot easier.

Finally, we come to the topic of _Fantastic Beasts,_ and we know just _Where To Find Them: _the **Pathfinder Bestiaries.** Since JK draws from the same mythological and legendary sources as **Pathfinder **does, it's no surprise that we already have complete stats for hippogriffs and grindylows. **HP** giants are basically the same as **Pathfinder** hill giants advanced to Huge size. **HP** dragons have animal intelligence, cannot cast spells, and can only breathe fire, but are otherwise similar in physical stats to **Pathfinder** dragons of the same size.

Of course, none of this is necessary for the enjoyment of the story; it's just a behind-the-scenes look for those who know **Pathfinder.** If you don't, well… you probably will by the end. Enjoy!

* * *

_There are worlds beyond the world that you know.  
__Other universes, dimensions — the Planes of Existence.  
__From the Sevenfold Heavens to the Nine Pits of Hell;  
__From the Endless Waters to the Silvery Void;  
__From the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits of reality itself — and __**beyond.  
**__At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control… the __**Planescape.**_

* * *

**Chapter 7:**** AH, THE TANAR'RI…**

After Harry and the others emerged from the portal, they found themselves in another narrow alley. Instead of a straight wooden beam, the upper part of this side of the portal was a small archway made of brick.

James gestured at the archway. "A lot of alleys have something like this built over them to create a bounded space for a portal to appear. Most shopkeepers actually prefer it that way because if more portals form outside in alleys, fewer are likely to form inside their actual _shops._ Our friend the _artist_ thinks he has it rough; imagine how he'd feel if that portal was attached to his front door."

"Hmmm," said Tonks. "I wondered why he didn't just chop down the beam."

"He wouldn't dare," said James. "Deliberately destroying a portal is a felony offence; if he did _that,_ he'd be _hanged_ from the Leafless Tree." He gestured as if pulling a rope and made a choking sound.

Ron frowned in confusion. "They'd tie him to a _tree?_"

"No, Ron," said Hermione patiently. "They'd tie a rope around his neck and attach it to a scaffold above him. Then, they'd drop him so the fall would cause the rope to snap his neck and kill him."

Ron's eyes widened in shock. "Bloody _hell!_ That's _barbaric!_"

"Yes, it is, which is why the Muggles don't do it anymore," said Hermione. "In the 19th century, hanging was a very popular method of executing Muggle criminals in Britain and elsewhere. They even used to have public executions where people could just show up and watch."

"We have those here, too," said Lessia. "There's a place near the Prison called Petitioner's Square where executions are held. Hanging's the usual method, though, sometimes, it's beheading. But, the _worst_ criminals, the ones they really want to make _examples_ of…" She grinned wickedly. "They get _fed_ to the _**Wyrm.**_"

"My _God!_" exclaimed Tonks. "And people actually _watch_ that?"

"Oh, _yes,_" said James. "They don't bring out the Wyrm often, but, when they do, a public holiday is declared so that as many people as possible can attend. Now, before you condemn the Cagers for their barbarism, keep in mind that the victims of the Wyrm are the worst of the worst. It's generally used for those whose crimes have provoked widespread public outrage."

He chuckled ruefully. "As an Anarchist, I'm not exactly in favour of Sigil's justice system. But, unfortunately, not all of my fellow faction members share my views on non-violent methods. The last one they sentenced to the Wyrm conjured a cloud of poison gas in a government building while a group of schoolchildren was visiting. He _laughed_ and said he was fumigating the place to kill off all the _rats._"

James's face contorted into a scowl. "I don't care _what_ beliefs he professed; monsters like that need to be put _down._ And feeding a monster to a monster seems perfectly just to me."

Tonks sighed. "Well, I suppose we don't have the right to call anyone _else_ barbaric. Back home, we'd have sentenced him to the Dementor's Kiss, and I don't think being eaten would be any worse than _that._"

For a moment, there was an awkward silence as everyone seemed to ponder what they'd just heard. Suddenly, James clapped his hands loudly and laughed.

"Powers above! Now I've got everyone all depressed thinking about _executions._ Let's all stop reading the dead-book and get back to enjoying _life!_"

He gestured at the intersection in front of him. "The Brothel for Slaking Intellectual Lusts can be found just around this corner. Just remember; it's perfectly all right to _look,_ but don't _touch._"

He grinned at Harry and Ron. "They won't execute you for that, but they _will _hit you hard below the belt. I leave it to you to decide which is worse."

When the group turned the corner, Harry saw a cylindrical building in front of him. It was not very tall; Harry guessed about three meters, though it was considerably wider on the ground. Its outer wall was made of some kind of light gray stone; rather than being put together with bricks and mortar, it appeared to be one seamless piece. It was topped with a dome-shaped roof made of metal, and its front doors were made of dark-colored, sturdy-looking wood. A well-dressed doorman stood next to the right-hand door and opened it to admit customers as they arrived.

James gestured for the group to stop just across the street from the building. Lessia took off her backpack, then placed her rifle and sword inside; James did likewise with his whip and rapier.

"We're not allowed to carry weapons inside," said James. "It's a peaceful place, after all; besides, they'd just get in the way. Also, we'll need to check our coats and shoes at the door."

"Our _shoes?_" said Ron. "What's that for?"

"Well, they don't want people smearing street soil all over their beautiful carpets," replied James. "And, of course, the carpets themselves are best experienced with bare feet. There's nothing quite like wriggling your toes on a bed of 100% Arborean wool."

Ginny glanced at Ron. "And what if _certain_ members of our group have foot odour?"

James laughed. "They have perfume available for that. While the Sensates appreciate all forms of sensory stimulation, they are aware that most people prefer the scent of flowers to sweat."

"Speaking of sweat, I've got to get out of this armour," said Lessia. "I wonder if Grace will let me take a bath."

James made a magical-looking gesture. "You could just clean yourself."

"Yeah, but I've got to get changed as well. Besides, it's a relaxing place, and what's more relaxing than a bath?" She yawned loudly.

"Just don't fall asleep while you're in there," said Zanton. "We wouldn't want to leave you behind."

"I'll be fine; I just need to sit down for a few minutes."

Zanton shrugged. "If you say so."

"All right; so how long can we stay here?" James consulted his pocketwatch. "Let's see… it took us about twenty minutes to get here, not counting the time we spent at the glass shop, so that means we have about forty minutes before we need to leave. Not much, but it should be enough time for everyone to at least sample the delights of this establishment."

"If I may, we don't actually have to walk back to the courthouse," said Dumbledore. "Now that we've seen it, Nymphadora and I can Apparate our party back there in no time."

James chuckled and shook his head. "I can't believe I didn't think of that. I guess I'm just used to Phoebe satisfying all my teleportation needs." He put his watch back in his pocket. "In that case, we have an hour, so there's no need to rush. Let's go inside and get started, shall we?"

As they approached the Brothel, the doorman opened the front door to let them in. Inside, they were greeted by two very attractive young women whose revealing outfits left little to the imagination. One of them appeared to be a normal human with pale skin and short, blonde hair; the other had pitch-black skin, shoulder-length white hair, and pointed ears much like Phoebe's. Both of them bowed politely to the group and smiled; the dark-skinned girl spoke in a friendly tone of voice.

"Welcome to the Brothel for Slaking Intellectual Lusts, where we strive to delight the mind and the senses. My name is Arya and I hope you will enjoy our services today." She gestured at the blonde girl. "If you will please remove your cloaks and footwear, Milly will be happy to take them for you."

"If you don't mind, we'll just put them in my backpack," said Lessia. "That way, everyone's stuff will be in one place."

Once the group was finished removing their cloaks, coats, boots, and shoes, Lessia handed her backpack to Milly, who placed it in a large, walk-in closet. She handed Lessia a glass bottle with a bulb and nozzle on top; Lessia squeezed the bulb and sprayed a bit of the contents on her feet.

"This'll make your feet smell a bit nicer," said Lessia. "Don't worry, boys; it's a fresh mint perfume. Not too girly."

As Harry and the others passed around the sprayer, James turned to Arya. "If you would please put our group on my account today. It's Methos Philpott, number 3277."

Arya looked through a large book on a stand. "Ah! Here you are." She made a note in the book with a quill. "Thank you, sir; enjoy your stay."

James applied a dose of perfume to his feet with the sprayer, then gave it back to Milly. "You're quite welcome."

Harry whispered into James's ear. "Another alias of yours?"

"Of course," said James in a normal voice. "There's no need to be secretive about it, Harry; most upper-class Cagers use aliases in account books here and elsewhere. I generally keep three of them in most places I do business with; it makes it harder to track my activities through written records. Businesses usually don't care what names are on their books as long as someone pays the bill. If you _don't,_ however, they'll take you to court, and three aliases will just mean three sets of court costs to pay."

The entranceway had a raised wooden floor; the group stepped down onto a soft, thick, red carpet. Harry had to admit, it did indeed feel very nice between his toes. Inside the Brothel was a large, open space with numerous chairs and sofas arranged around oval-shaped glass tables. The chairs and sofas were covered in silk sheets with satin pillows, and each table was adorned with a small vase of colorful flowers. In the center of the room was a small, decorative fountain surrounded by polished stones and tiny trees in pots; the water sparkled in the daylight that shone through a skylight in the center of the roof. Apart from the skylight, the room was illuminated by torches mounted on brass stands next to the sofas; though the torches gave off bright light, Harry could see that they did not give off any smoke. A number of rooms were arranged in a circle in the wooden wall surrounding the main space; several tapestries and paintings were displayed on the wall between the doors.

A number of people were sitting at the tables talking to young women who were just as scantily clad as the girls at the entrance; another girl was busy pouring tea for a group seated at a table on Harry's right. Suddenly, another woman emerged from a room on Harry's left… a woman unlike anyone Harry had ever seen or imagined.

She was fairly tall, with long, blonde hair that stopped just above her waist. She was wearing a sky-blue dress with some kind of leather corset on the outside that covered her chest. It was clear that she was not human due to the pair of large, bat-like wings attached to her back; yet, even this strange feature did not detract from her beauty in the slightest. Even from across the room, it seemed to Harry that this woman practically _radiated_ beauty; despite being superficially similar in appearance, she made Fleur Delacour look positively _plain_ in comparison. Harry began to feel warm as his blood rushed up to his face and down to his waist; he felt a sudden impulse to leap at the woman and rip off her clothes. The intensity of that impulse shocked him; he blinked his eyes and shook his head to clear it.

_Bloody hell! What on Earth could make me think something like __**that?**__ Oh, right; I keep forgetting I'm not __**on**__ Earth anymore. _He realized his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it. _Merlin! Zanton really wasn't kidding when he said we'd drool like dogs!_ He suddenly felt worried. _I wonder how Ron is taking this._

Harry turned his head to face Ron slowly, as if he wasn't really sure he wanted to know his friend's reaction. Sure enough, Ron was staring slack-jawed at the woman who could only be the mysterious 'Fall-From-Grace' they'd been warned about. James appeared to be sneaking up behind Ron; he winked at Harry and put his finger to his lips. As Harry watched, James made a magical gesture near Ron's ear and spoke a word just as he snapped his fingers. A loud _**pop **_caused Ron to nearly jump out of his skin; he turned around to see James with a satisfied grin on his face. The noise diverted the attention of the other customers momentarily; it also seemed to attract Fall-From-Grace's attention as she turned and approached the group. Her scent seemed subtly alluring; not perfume, but almost like the opposite of sweat, if there were such a thing. As she turned to James and began to speak, Harry thought that even her voice sounded beautiful; almost _enchanting._

"James Black! It's been a while since I've seen you here. It's always a pleasure, though I must insist you keep the noise level to a minimum."

James chuckled. "I do apologise, Mistress Grace. I just had to bring this young prime here to his senses."

She smiled. "Ah! Well, I can hardly fault you for that; newcomers often have such strong reactions."

She turned to address the group and bowed slightly in greeting. "It is always a pleasure to welcome new visitors to the City of Doors. I am known as Fall-From-Grace, though 'Grace' is my preferred form of address. I apologise if I've overwhelmed you with my presence; I'm afraid it's just in the nature of what I am."

Hermione was the first one who found the courage to speak. "Um, yes. Mr. Black said you were called a 'tanar'ri'?"

Grace's eyebrows rose as she turned to James. "And you said nothing further?"

"Well, I didn't want to use certain _words,_ you understand," replied James. "It would be too confusing for them right now."

Grace nodded. "I see." She gestured at one of the sofas. "Well, if you'd like to take a seat, I'll have one of my girls bring some refreshments."

"Just tea, if you please," said James. "We're going to Chirper's next, and I don't want to spoil anyone's appetite. Ah, but where are my manners? I haven't introduced my guests yet! Mistress Grace, may I present Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of a renowned school of magic on a newly-discovered Material world. These four young people are his students, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Last, but certainly not least, Miss Nymphadora Tonks, who enforces the law on her fellow spellcasters. She'd prefer not to be addressed by her first name, though."

"Of course," replied Grace. "It is a pleasure to meet you all, and I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay in Sigil. For now, my staff and I will do our best to ensure that you enjoy your stay with us."

"Mistress Grace?" said Lessia. "Would you mind if I borrowed a bit of your bathwater?" She yawned. "I've been up all night and I really need to get washed and changed."

"Hmmm," said Grace. "I suppose you could do it this once. I just don't want to give the impression that it's one of the services we usually provide."

"I know, I know," said Lessia. "It's just a one-time favour. Thank you for letting me do it, though. I just need to grab my backpack first; I've got a change of clothes in there."

As Lessia walked to the entrance, Hermione turned to James. "What is it that you're not telling us about her? It's almost as if you're afraid to mention it."

"I know, and I assure you that we're not trying to hide anything here," replied James. "It's just that if I gave you the details right now, it would mean giving you lots of _other_ details, which would necessitate giving you lots and _lots_ of _other_ details." He shook his head and smiled. "Patience, my friends, patience! I promise that all will be revealed at tonight's meeting. I know you must be tired of hearing that, but I would beg your indulgence just a little while longer. Believe me, you'll understand why soon enough."

"This is all very mysterious," said Tonks, "but I get the impression that you like playing the man of mystery."

James laughed. "I do indeed, my dear; I do indeed. But, let us not muddle our minds with mysteries for the moment; let us sit down, relax, and enjoy our surroundings."

As the group sat down at one of the tables, Lessia approached Grace while carrying her backpack. Grace nodded and motioned for two of the girls.

"Kara, would you mind escorting Miss Skyleaf to the baths? And, Hillary, if you would please bring us some green tea with honey."

The girls bowed slightly. One of them led Lessia to a staircase at the back of the room, while the other went to what appeared to be a dumbwaiter next to the staircase. As Kara and Lessia descended the staircase, Ginny blushed slightly, then turned to Grace. "I hate to ask this, but do you have a loo I can use?"

Grace frowned slightly in confusion. "I'm sorry; I don't know what you mean."

"I believe you might call it the 'privy' here," said Dumbledore.

Grace nodded. "Ah, yes." She gestured toward the rear of the room. "The two gray doors on the left and right back there. Just latch the door on the inside for privacy."

"Er… which one is for men?" asked Harry.

"Either privy can be used by either gender, but only one person can occupy each one at a time."

Ron stood up. "Right, then. Ginny, you can take the one on the left, and I'll take the one on the right."

"If anyone else needs to use the privy, this would be a good time," said James. "Unless you'd rather wait until we get to Chirper's, of course; their privies are almost as clean."

Ron entered the privy, then quickly came out and dashed back to the group. "There's no bog roll in there!"

Hermione sighed. "Ron, I don't think they've _invented_ the bog roll here yet."

"Well, then, what are you supposed to use for…" He blushed. "You know…"

James chuckled. "There's a cloth hanging from the seat. It's enchanted to clean itself after each use."

"What? You mean _everyone_ uses it? That's _disgusting!_"

"It's self-_cleaning,_ Ron! You could use it to clean your _teeth_ if you wanted." James pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it across his front teeth. "A gentleman always carries one of these with him; after all, not every establishment is as high-class as this one."

"Bloody hell!" Ron shook his head, then went back into the privy.

"You have magic, but you don't have _these?_" James put the handkerchief away. "I shudder to _think._"

Grace shook her head. "James, I hardly think this is a topic for civilised conversation."

James nodded. "Of course. We are nothing if not civilised."

Once Ginny was finished with the privy, Harry took his turn to use it as well. It was a simple wooden seat above a chamber pot; several empty pots were stacked in the corner and a few with closed lids were next to them. There was also a small pail with some kind of scented powder, as well as a basin, a pitcher of water, a bar of scented soap, and a towel (which was also self-cleaning.) Despite the fact that Sigil had apparently not yet invented indoor plumbing, it all seemed very sanitary and without even a hint of stench. Harry chuckled to himself at the thought that many public lavatories in the Muggle world could only dream of being this "civilised."

After everyone had had their turn, James made a show of leaning deeply back into his chair. He sipped his tea, gestured idly at his surroundings and let out a contented sigh.

"Ah. The finer things in life. This is what it's all about. Sitting in this chair is like sitting in the very lap of luxury. Hmmm… I wonder if anyone's ever named a girl Luxury just to make that joke."

He laughed. "The only thing missing that would make this truly perfect is a pipe filled with the finest halfling-grown pipeweed." James took his unlit pipe out of his pocket. "Alas, smoking is not permitted here as it could disturb the other patrons."

Hermione frowned. "You really shouldn't smoke at all. It's bad for your health."

"It's bad for the health of full-blooded _humans,_" said James. "I suppose this is as good a time as any to inform you that I'm _not._ I am what is commonly referred to as a _tiefling:_ a person who is _mostly_ human, but with a planar being such as a tanar'ri in his ancestry. In fact, my ancestor was a being very similar to Mistress Grace here."

He nodded to Grace, then sipped his tea. "You see, tanar'ri are completely immune to poison, so even the most noxious substances cannot harm them. While most tieflings don't possess any practical resistance to actual _poisons,_ we are immune to the long-term effects of minor toxins such as this."

He smiled. "Now, the _short-term_ effects of pipeweed work just fine, otherwise there'd be no point in smoking it. And, of course, a pipe does make a gentleman look very stylish." He placed the unlit pipe in his mouth and pretended to inhale.

"I hardly think that's the sort of message my students should be hearing," said Dumbledore.

James cast a surprised glance at Dumbledore. "Don't tell me you've never indulged in a _pipe,_ Professor. Why, a pipe is practically a prerequisite to project a proper portrait of professoriality."

Dumbledore smiled. "I've been a professor for over one hundred years, Mr. Black, and I'd prefer not to diminish my remaining lifespan for the sake of _appearances._ In any case, smoking has never been as popular among wizards as it is among Muggles."

"But you do _drink _on occasion, right?" said James. "A snifter of brandy in one's hand can be just as stylish."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "On _occasion,_ yes."

"Well, good," said James firmly. "Diplomatic negotiations are always much more pleasant with a generous application of the proper social lubricant. Of course, that doesn't work on _constructs._ My dear Phoebe lacks a biological metabolism, so she can't really _experience_ alcohol. She can and does enjoy it for the _taste,_ but that doesn't help when she's had a particularly stressful day."

"Using drink to deal with stress creates problems and does not solve them," said Grace firmly. "Phoebe is quite fortunate to be unable to do so."

"I suppose." James put away his pipe and sipped his tea. "I remember when I took her out to dinner on her first day in Sigil. She had no idea how one was supposed to behave in a social situation, so she was _terrified_ of doing something wrong and making a fool of herself. I wasn't aware she was a construct at the time, so I poured her a glass of wine to help her relax. She picked it up and downed the whole thing in one gulp, then looked positively horrified when she saw my bemused expression. She still does that occasionally when she's nervous or excited. It's like she's thinking, 'I must drink this to fit in. _Gulp!_ I have done so.'"

Zanton grinned. "If she wished to avoid excitement, that was decidedly the wrong place and time to do so. Shortly after James and Phoebe began their meal, they found themselves fighting for their very lives."

Grace's eyebrows rose. "Ah, yes. I have heard this story before, though I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing it firsthand." She turned to James. "I have, of course, read your article in the _Tempus Sigilian, _but it does seem to me to be rather embellished."

James smiled and shrugged. "Alas, I would love to give you all the details, but Phoebe hates it when I tell that story without her here to 'correct' me. One minute, I'm spinning a stirring tale of valiant and heroic battle, and the next, she insists on reciting her official report on the so-called 'incident.'"

Zanton laughed. "Well, it's not quite _that_ bad, though, as you must know by now, James has been known to let his flair for the dramatic get out of hand. Phoebe simply wishes to remind him that this is _not_ always a good idea. However, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I were to provide my own perspective on the matter."

He paused. "The short version is that on the day Phoebe first came to Sigil, James took her out to dinner for an interview. During their meal, a small band of violent criminals made a surprise attack on Chirper's. They killed the guards by burning them with vials of alchemist's fire, then demanded that the customers hand over a random young woman for their… _amusement._ But, while their leader was busy making threats, Phoebe drew her gun, cast a spell to guide her aim, and _shot_ him."

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Ron. "Just like that?"

"Oh, yes," said James, "and I can honestly say I've never been more surprised by anything in my life. When the attack began, I immediately shoved Phoebe under the table to hide her. While I was frantically trying to think of a way out of the situation, I heard a loud _**BANG!**_ I looked down, and there was a smoking hole in the tablecloth accompanied by a similar hole in the gang leader's chest. Of course, _then,_ the whole gang immediately looked in our direction, but Phoebe didn't leave me to take the blame. Instead, she ran out from under the table specifically to draw their attention away from me. And the three thugs who chased after her — including the biggest and _ugliest_ one — were quickly rendered unconscious by her sleep spell."

"Wow!" said Ginny. "She must be very brave."

James took a sip of tea and chuckled. "Well, I must admit that, at the time, the word that came to mind was 'insane.' How could one person possibly stand a chance against eight armed thugs? Of course, it _wasn't_ just one person; there was a whole dining room full of customers armed with knives, forks, plates, and wine bottles. In a situation like that, everyone is afraid to make the first move, which is exactly what hostage takers rely on. However, once the first move has been well and truly _made,_ it's a simple matter for an artist such as myself to rouse the rabble."

"Wait a minute," said Tonks. "This happened at _Chirper's?_ As in, the same restaurant you're about to take _us_ to?"

"You needn't worry, my dear; there hasn't been another attack like that since that fateful day eight years ago. After all, there's a reason it was front-page news; even in Sigil, such things don't happen every day. And if they do, well, Phoebe's still got her gun — and she's a _lot_ more powerful now than she was then."

Tonks chuckled. "Blimey. If she could do all _that,_ how on Earth did Umbridge manage to get the drop on her?"

James shrugged. "Luck, I suppose, though I wouldn't tell Phoebe that. Guvners believe in _probability,_ not _luck;_ you might think they're the same thing, but they would beg to differ. Also, Phoebe and Celeste didn't actually want to kill her; I know _that_ because she's still alive."

He paused. "So, now, we have the final score of the battle. Phoebe killed the leader and knocked out three of his minions, Zanton killed their alchemist by igniting the remaining fire bombs he was carrying, and, though I didn't put any of them in the dead-book myself, I did manage to wound their tiefling; she and the remaining two managed to escape. After that, I saw Phoebe safely home, then immediately dashed off to the _Tempus Sigilian_ and dictated a new front-page article directly to the typesetters. It had a big headline, **'VICTORY AT CHIRPERS!'**, and then, **'Heroic Elf Defeats Armed Gang'.**"

Zanton smiled. "He made it sound like one of those plays where the hero stands in the middle of the stage and effortlessly fends off a horde of enemies one by one. The way _he_ told it, Phoebe shot down about two dozen criminals singlehandedly."

"Well, she _did_ neutralise _half_ of them," said James. "I admit I may have been somewhat vague on the details, but, come on; that's just good storytelling! I wanted to overwhelm the readers with so much positive publicity that they wouldn't pay attention to the negative. If I _hadn't_ written that, the newspaper would have simply reported that three guards were burned to death at Chirper's, and then, who would've eaten there? They'd have boarded up the place."

"Yes, James, but your article put Phoebe in a spotlight she was completely unprepared to handle," said Zanton. "She went from being a newly-minted Guvner to the talk of half the city overnight when she was still struggling to learn the rules of basic social interaction."

"I know," said James, "and I freely admit my error in that regard. In my defence, I didn't really understand Phoebe's psychology when I first met her. I thought that a girl who could handle nearly being killed in battle would have no difficulty with a bit of well-earned fame. But, of course, she was _designed_ to deal with violent threats; it's built into her core psychology. The weight of instant fame, on the other hand, was nearly too much for her small shoulders to bear."

Harry chuckled ruefully. "Oh, yeah; I know exactly how _that_ feels."

Tonks frowned. "So you stressed out Phoebe just to help your favourite _restaurant?_"

"I wasn't _trying_ to stress her out," protested James. "I thought the publicity would help her career. And it _did;_ Factol Haskhar personally awarded her a medal, thus paving the way for her meteoric rise to the rank of Bureau Chief."

"Which, of course, is stressing her out right _now,_" noted Zanton.

James sipped his tea, then folded his arms. "Well, she can't blame me for it _this_ time."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "You're acting like that newspaper article stressed her out more than _killing_ someone and nearly getting killed _herself!_"

"Because it _did,_" said James. "You've got to understand that Phoebe doesn't always think like a human. Humans and other humanoid beings are _designed_ to experience stress in dangerous situations; the so-called 'fight-or-flight' response. When _Phoebe_ sees a threat, her emotions get shoved out of the way so she can identify, analyse, and neutralise that threat. Now, don't get me wrong; she's not an automaton and is just as capable of feeling fear as you or I. It's just that her rational mind still maintains firm control over her actions."

"The ones that Phoebe knocked out," said Harry. "Were they sentenced to death?"

"Absolutely," replied James. "They were guilty of a number of heinous murders even before the attack. But, the guards at Chirper's are members of the Mercykiller faction, which just happens to be the faction in charge of sentencing convicted criminals. I'm sure you can imagine their response to the brutal murders of three of their own."

"They fed the gang members to the Worm, right?" said Ginny.

"It's not a 'worm' in the sense of a long, crawly thing on the ground," said James. "'Wyrm' with a 'Y' is a traditional term for a powerful dragon. Technically, it's a wyvern rather than a true dragon, but that doesn't matter to the poor berk being eaten."

A dark-haired girl with slightly pointed ears approached the group. "Would you ladies and gentlemen like some more tea?"

James nodded. "Yes, some Arborean spice tea, if you please."

As the girl walked away, Harry could clearly see that what little there was of her outfit exposed her back, legs, and most of her shapely buttocks, as well as a short, rat-like tail just above them. He cast a glance at Ron, who was also staring at the girl's tail as it flicked back and forth. To his right, he heard a distinctly female snort of derision; he turned to see Hermione giving Ron her best glare.

She turned to Grace and assumed a forced expression of politeness. "Excuse me, Mistress Grace? I don't mean to be rude, but why do you have your employees dress like that? I mean, if this place is devoted to intellectual pursuits, then why would you want these girls to put themselves on display like objects?"

Grace smiled. "Why should a gallery hesitate to _display_ works of art? Some of the finest painters and sculptors depict the humanoid form unclothed, and yet, their works are not generally considered prurient."

"Yes, but those are just inanimate objects," replied Hermione. "It's different when a man looks at a woman of flesh and blood."

"Of course, but a living woman offers more than mere appearance," said Grace. "She is an intelligent being possessed of her own free will. Many people do not appreciate the difference between lust and appreciation of beauty, but for one who understands lust as I do, it is obvious. Lust is an excessive and inordinate desire that obstructs the functioning of the rational mind. Many first-time visitors are, indeed, distracted, but they quickly realize how this interferes with their enjoyment of our actual services; namely, that the girls will soundly trounce them at any intellectual contest. If there's one thing that _doesn't_ appeal to the lustful male, it's the thought of actually _losing_ to a beautiful girl."

She paused. "At this point, the man is forced to make a choice. He can focus his mind on the task at hand and appreciate his partner for her intelligence as well as her body, or he can get angry and leave in a fit of pique. Occasionally, some customers attempt to express their anger through violence; for those few, we have well-trained guards in place to remove them. Normally, the guards stay out of sight so as not to interfere with the ambiance; but, rest assured that anyone who attempts to use violence here will _not_ be successful."

Tonks nodded. "OK, but what about the _female_ customers? I mean, they can't all be lesbians, can they?"

"If, by that, you mean homosexuals, then I would, indeed, agree," said Grace. "However, I believe the sight of a beautiful woman can be appealing and even challenging to a heterosexual female as well. While a homosexual woman or a heterosexual man might have to deal with the awkwardness of lust, a heterosexual woman might instead feel as if her own appearance doesn't measure up. This can be equally awkward, if not more so."

She gestured at herself. "I don't mean to sound like a braggart, but my own appearance often intimidates young women who feel as though their own bodies could not possibly compare to mine. That is, of course, an irrational comparison, as if one were comparing the beauty of apples and pears. Once my female customers learn to relax a little, they will often find that they feel better about themselves. While many claim that a young woman's appearance is merely superficial, they often fail to acknowledge that it is an important part of her self-esteem."

"So you're saying that a girl's self-esteem depends on looking pretty for the benefit of men?" said Hermione.

"I believe the word you're overlooking there is 'part'," replied Grace. "Of course, a woman should not allow a man to dictate her appearance, but she should not forget that the desire to attract a mate is biologically inherent. Attempting to deny this or rationalize it away only creates an unhealthy division between the body and mind. I believe that self-esteem comes from achieving a proper balance between them."

"Yeah, but why aren't there any _male_ artworks on display?" asked Tonks. "That would certainly improve _my_ self-esteem!"

Grace laughed. "It's simply a matter of practicality, Miss Tonks. Since most of my employees are of a single gender, it minimizes the possibility of romantic entanglements that could compromise their job performance. After all, there is a difference between a customer who spends a few hours here and an employee who spends many hours every day with the same people."

Hermione shook her head. "I understand the argument you're making here. It's just… I just find it hard to believe that dressing up in a skimpy costume can actually _improve_ a girl's self-esteem."

Grace smiled at her. "Well, Hermione, you seem like a very intelligent young lady. As such, I'm sure you wouldn't mind if we were to put my theory to the test."

Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock. "Wait-wait a minute. No. No _way!_ I am _not_ going to wear one of one those… _things_ in front of… _everyone!_" She reflexively covered her chest with her arms. "I-I mean, I'm a school _prefect_ and my _headmaster_ is here! What would _he_ think if I were to dress like that!"

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, I think you shouldn't let a _man_ dictate your appearance, Miss Granger, even if he happens to be your headmaster. What a student wears outside of school is none of my concern."

Hermione blushed. "P-Professor, you're not actually suggesting I _do_ this, are you?"

"I say neither yea nor nay," said Dumbledore. "What Mistress Grace is saying is that you should make your own decision."

"Quite so," said Grace. She walked over to Hermione and gently grasped her hands. "I know you feel self-conscious and embarrassed right now. That is a perfectly normal reaction, and there's nothing wrong with that. If you decide that such an outfit is not to your liking, that's fine; but, as the expression goes, 'don't knock it 'til you've tried it.'"

Hermione laughed nervously. "Oh, my God. I… I mean… _seriously,_ here. What good could it _possibly_ do for me to wear _that?_"

"Hermione, you are a lovely and attractive young woman," said Grace. "And, sometimes, every girl needs a reason to _believe_ that."

Hermione stared at Grace silently for a few seconds, then glanced back and forth nervously. Just as she started to open her mouth, James suddenly interrupted by speaking in the harsh, grating voice of a stereotypical old woman.

"Oh, no, you _don't,_ young lady; I don't care _what_ your friends say. If all your friends decided to jump off a _bridge,_ would you jump off _with_ them?"

He switched to Hermione's voice. "Why not? I could cast a spell to slow my fall, and so could they."

He switched back to the old lady. "Shut your bone-box! You can't talk back to me! This is supposed to be one of those teachable moments; don't you dare interrupt me with _facts!_"

Everyone laughed, including Hermione. Ginny turned to her and smiled. "Well, you know what? I think _I'd_ like to give it a try." She flipped her long, red hair to one side. "A girl's never too old to play a little dress-up."

Hermione smiled back. "Well, if _you're_ going to do it, then I will too. What kind of Gryffindor would I be if I didn't show a little courage?"

Ginny laughed. "Oh, I think we'll be showing a lot more than _that._"

"N-Now, wait a minute," stammered Ron. "Ginny, you're not allowed to do that!"

Ginny glared at him. "Not _allowed?_ By _whom,_ _Mister_ Weasley?"

Ron blushed. "Well, I mean… you know, Mum wouldn't like it."

"Well, I didn't think you'd want _Mum_ to find out about this little excursion," said Ginny, "but if you're that eager to tell her about your trip to the _Brothel,_ go right ahead."

Ron gulped nervously. Hermione grinned at him. "You need to learn to respect women, Ron. Ginny and I don't need a man's _permission_ to do what we want."

Grace smiled at her. "Sounds like your self-esteem is already improving. Ladies, would you please show our guests downstairs and find them some work clothes?"

After the girl with the tail refilled the teacups, she and a normal-looking brown-haired girl escorted Hermione and Ginny to a staircase at the back of the room. After they descended, James turned to Harry and Ron.

"Now, boys, when the girls come back, you need to compliment them on their beauty. It's all right for you to look them up and down first; after all, that _is_ rather the point. But, then, you need to look them straight in the eye and tell them they look _beautiful._ And you've got to _mean_ it, boys; a girl can see through a smokescreen of insincere flattery from a mile away."

Harry smiled. "You really are serious about this, aren't you?"

"Well, you two are of an age where you need to start taking women seriously," said James. "Just out of curiosity, how old are you, anyway?"

"Ron, Hermione, and I are sixteen," said Harry, "and Ginny's one year younger. I just turned sixteen last month, and Hermione's seventeenth birthday is next month."

"Turning seventeen already! Well, Phoebe had better work quickly, then!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Phoebe's probably going to want to recruit her into the Fraternity of Order," said James. "If she joins on her seventeenth birthday, it would be quite symbolic, since seventeen years is the equivalent of one turn. You see, the Fraternity's true headquarters is on a plane called Mechanus, the plane of ultimate order. It's an infinite space filled with an endless assortment of interlocking gears which all turn precisely in harmony with each other. If you think that sounds like a clock, you're probably right; Phoebe says the gears of Mechanus are believed to regulate the flow of time throughout the multiverse."

He paused. "The largest gear, which is said to be thousands of miles wide, takes exactly seventeen years to make one revolution, or turn. And, so, the Guvners and other inhabitants of Mechanus tend to attribute great significance to that particular length of time. For instance, in the city where Phoebe was made, a young elf is considered a full adult at the age of seven turns. In fact, it was on _her_ first day of adulthood that Phoebe first arrived in Sigil."

James chuckled. "Nearly getting herself killed by a gang of armed thugs was a hell of a way to celebrate! Let's hope that Hermione's special day is less eventful."

Tonks blinked in surprise. "Hang on, then; seven turns would be one hundred and nineteen _years!_ Are you saying Phoebe's actually 119 years old?"

"One hundred twenty-seven, actually," said James. He smiled. "Now, don't look so shocked. You already knew she's an artificial construct who is not bound by the chains of time as we are. And, though the elves of Mechanus who created her don't live _forever,_ their lifespan does extend for many centuries."

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Ron. "Does that mean Phoebe _will_ live forever?"

James shrugged. "All it really means is that she cannot die from old age. When it comes to clubs, claymores, and the claws of cursed creatures, she's just as vulnerable to that sort of thing as you or I. Believe me, my friends and I have all had the opportunity to experience such things many times up close and personal. She might have a very long and fulfilling life, or she might die tomorrow. But, the same could be said for any of us, so why worry?"

"An admirable philosophy," said Dumbledore. "If only Lord Voldemort were to accept that, he would no longer be a threat to anyone."

"Ah!" said James. "So these Death Eaters are all about obtaining immortality." Dumbledore nodded; James sighed. "It's the same out here, I'm afraid. You'd think planars would know better, yet so many still desire an alternative to a limited lifespan."

He chuckled. "Now, the faction called the Dustmen is a notable exception. The way they figure it, this thing we call 'life' is filled with misery and suffering. Most people say life shouldn't be like that, and the Dustmen agree. They say that what we have _isn't_ life at all because everyone in the multiverse is actually _dead._"

"_Dead?"_ Tonks laughed. "Then how do they explain all those people with heartbeats?"

"Oh, that doesn't prove anything, because life as we know it is just an illusion," said James. "All the suffering we experience in this so-called life is because we simply refuse to accept the truth. The goal of all beings is to achieve this understanding and embrace the transcendent reality of True Death."

"All right," said Tonks dubiously. "And what happens then?"

"No one knows," replied James. "Some say you simply cease to exist. Others believe you return to the True Life you once had before you died and ended up in _this_ miserable place."

He paused. "Now, the Dustmen's headquarters in Sigil is in the Hive Ward, and it's hard to find a more miserable place than _that._ Did they adopt their morbid philosophy because of their surroundings, or was it the other way around? I know they don't like _this_ place at all; it's _far_ too cheerful."

Grace laughed. "Yes, the Dustmen and the Sensates have always had opposing philosophies. _We_ believe in enjoying life and experiencing it to the fullest."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "I guess that's another word that means something different on the planes. In England, a 'dustman' is someone who collects the rubbish and carts it away."

James laughed. "Oh, I think it would be best not to mention that in Sigil. Our Dustmen also _collect_ things and cart them away; the difference is, those 'things' are dead bodies. Their headquarters is the Mortuary, where they conduct funerals for those who can afford them and simply cremate the remains of those who can't."

Harry chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, I can see how that might be just a _little_ offensive. It's a good thing we've got you to explain stuff like that."

"Well, when we visit your world, we'll be relying on you for that sort of thing as well. After all, I pride myself on my good manners; I'd hate to compliment a woman on her tattoo only to find out it's used to mark convicted felons."

James turned to Dumbledore. "So, at what age are young people on Earth considered adults? I get the impression that it's greater than sixteen."

"British witches and wizards come of age at seventeen," said Dumbledore. "Other countries may have different standards, as do many of the Muggle governments. A British Muggle isn't considered a legal adult until the age of eighteen, for example."

"I see," said James. "In Sigil, a simple age of maturity is impossible due to the large number of different beings with different lifespans. Basically, you're an adult if you're old enough to live here on your own. While the government does try to keep track of births and deaths, it's mostly a voluntary system in practice. I mean, I was dropped off at an orphanage as a baby; there's no way of telling exactly when I was born. Phoebe, on the other hand, knows exactly how many _seconds_ she's been alive."

He grinned. "If you _really_ want to annoy her, tell her you'll be fashionably late. She'll go barmy trying to figure out exactly how long that is."

"Do you ever… think about your real parents?" said Harry softly.

"A fellow orphan, I see," said James. Harry nodded. "Well, Harry, I don't really go in for all that talk about 'real' parents; that idea is probably the most psychologically damaging thing any orphan faces. Every one of the little blighters I grew up with had the same fantasy about their 'real' parents coming to take them away. Then, when they realized that was never going to happen, they felt as if their very souls had been _crushed._ I can tell from the expression on your face that you know _exactly_ what that feels like."

Harry took a deep breath. "Yeah."

James nodded. "But here's the best way to deal with that sort of thinking. Out here on the planes, _belief _makes things real, so your 'real' parents are whoever you _believe_ them to be. If you're fortunate enough to have adults in your life who care for you, guide you, and instil values in you, then, regardless of any accidents of birth, _they_ are your _real_ parents."

Harry smiled. "Well, in that case, Mrs. Weasley would have to be my real mum. She's always treated me like one of the family since the day I first set foot in her home."

"Wonderful, Harry, just wonderful!" exclaimed James. "In my case, my father was the man who adopted me into the Anarchists when I was ten. I'd tell you more, but I'd rather wait until I have a larger audience. The story of my childhood is a classic tale of rags to riches; a secret account of the innermost workings of the Revolutionary League!"

Zanton smiled. "He played dress-up with some rich kid's clothes he stole at a bathhouse."

James sighed loudly. "Zanton, my friend, why do you insist on robbing history of its drama? If I were merely to make an offhand remark that you obtained your freedom by stealing a genie's key ring, would that even begin to weave one thread of the magnificent tapestry of your life?"

"No, but it wouldn't annoy me nearly as much as it would you."

James laughed. "My friends, don't let his simple demeanour fool you; Zanton is one of the finest orators in Sigil. If he wants to enthral an audience with his voice, he is more than capable of doing so."

Zanton grinned. "I am _also_ capable of shutting my bone-box; a skill that our Mr. Black sometimes finds rather difficult to master."

"Oh, I can if I _must;_ I'd just rather use it to impress and entertain our guests. But, you're right; let us take a few minutes to simply enjoy our surroundings in silence until the young ladies emerge to dazzle us with their beauty."

* * *

We now know how the _Stupefy _spell works under **Pathfinder **rules in general, but how does that specifically apply to Umbridge's attacks on Phoebe and Celeste in Chapter 1? To answer this question, we need to know Umbridge's Charisma score. Now, you might say that Umbridge isn't exactly charismatic, but she must have some talent in this area to be able to manipulate the Ministry and govern her goons. Besides, she gets +1 to Charisma for being middle-aged. Therefore, I'll give her a Charisma of **15, **which gives her a Cha modifier of **+2.** That means the Difficulty Class (DC) to resist a _Stupefy_ spell cast by Umbridge would be 10 + 4 (_Stupefy's_ level) + 2 (Cha modifier) = **16.**

Now, instead of going through every dice roll related to this attack, we'll just look at the saving throws. Phoebe is an 8th-level wizard / 2nd-level loremaster with a Constitution score of **14 **(+2 bonus),which gives her a Fortitude saving throw bonus of **+5; **she would have to roll 11 or higher on a d20 to avoid being Stunned. That's a 50% chance, so it's not at all unlikely that Umbridge could Stun her. (It's a _lot_ more unlikely that Umbridge could strike first, but even she can get lucky… _once._)

Celeste, on the other hand, is a 9th-level paladin / 1st-level monk with a Constitution score of **16 **(+3 bonus) and a Charisma of **22** (+6 bonus). (Back in Chapter 3, I said her Charisma was 20; that was an error.) Paladins add both their Con bonus and Cha bonus to their Fortitude saves, so Celeste's Fortitude saving throw bonus is **+17.** Since that's greater than the DC by itself, Celeste can only fail her saving throw if she rolls a 1 on the d20, which is an automatic failure (5% chance.)

Just to put this in perspective, that's the same Fortitude bonus as a 21-foot-tall, 12,000-pound storm giant and is actually 2 points _higher_ than a 14,000-pound _tyrannosaurus._ In this case, that wouldn't actually matter, as a T-Rex could still only fail its saving throw on a roll of 1. So, basically, Umbridge would have as much chance of Stunning Celeste as she would of Stunning a full-grown T-Rex. Hmmm… now, where did I put my copy of **Jurassic Park?**

_**Thump**__… (water ripples in glass)… __**thump**__… (ground trembles)… __**thump**__… (Umbridge looks up)… __**AAAAAAAAAAAH!**__... crunch… gulp…_


	9. Chapter 8: Love, Sex, Intelligence

**HARRY POTTER AND THE ETERNAL BOUNDARY  
****A Harry Potter / Planescape crossover**

**This story and all original materials are © 2012 Rick Summon.  
**_**Harry Potter**_** and all related materials are © and ® J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.  
**_**Dungeons and Dragons, Planescape, **_**and all related materials are © and ® Wizards of the Coast.  
**_**Pathfinder **_**and all related materials are © and ® Paizo Publishing.  
**_**Planescape: Torment**_** and all related materials are © and ® Black Isle Studios.**

* * *

So, I established all those rules at the beginning of the last chapter, but I still haven't answered the original question yet. _Would_ Umbridge survive if Phoebe cast a _lightning bolt_ at her or _**not?**_

To answer this question, we need to know Umbridge's hit points, and for that, we need to know her level and Constitution score. In order for her to get a job at the Ministry, one assumes she had to graduate from Hogwarts, so she must be at least 7th level. But, she's clearly not very powerful as evidenced by the fact that she could not dispel Fred and George's pranks in **Order of the Phoenix. ** However, I'll be generous and say Umbridge is an 8th-level wandmage. She's a middle-aged human whom no one could confuse with an athlete, so I'll say her Constitution is an average **11.** Based on this information, Umbridge has **38** hit points. Now for the violence.

Phoebe is a 10th-level spellcaster, so a _lightning bolt_ cast by her would inflict **10d6** damage; this means we roll 10 six-sided dice and add them up. Umbridge gets a Reflex saving throw to attempt to reduce this damage by half. I'll say her Dexterity is also **11,** so her Reflex bonus is **+2.** _Lightning bolt_ is a 3rd-level spell and Phoebe's Intelligence is **24** (+7 bonus), so the saving throw DC is 10 + 3 + 7 = **20.** Umbridge must roll an 18 or better to succeed; she has a **15%** chance to do so. If she does, the _lightning bolt_ cannot inflict more than **30** damage, and, therefore, cannot kill Umbridge by itself.

If she fails the saving throw, you might assume that the bolt must inflict **38** damage to kill her. Not quite. At 0 hit points, a character is ready to collapse; at -1 hit point, she's unconscious and dying. To be _dead,_ Umbridge must have negative hit points equal to her Constitution score; therefore, the bolt must inflict **49** damage to kill her instantly. But let's not quibble over a few hit points here; assume she's standing on the edge of a lava pit or something and falls right in if the bolt knocks her unconscious. For that, the _lightning bolt _must inflict at least **39** damage.

So, what's the probability of rolling a total of 39 or higher on 10 six-sided dice? Well, _that's_ easy. Everyone knows it's the sum as p goes from 39 to 60 and k goes from 0 to (p-10)/6 rounded down of (-1)^k times the binomial coefficient of (10, k) times the binomial coefficient of (p-6k-1, 9) divided by 60,466,176. But if you're not a member of the Fraternity of Order, then trust me when I say it's **26.1%.**

Finally, we just need to multiply that by the 85% chance of failing the saving throw for a **Total Death Probability™ (TDP™)** of **22.2%! **There you have it!

(If she survives, we'll probably dump her in the lava pit anyway, but we'll give her a chance to beg for mercy first. It's only fair.)

* * *

_There are worlds beyond the world that you know.  
__Other universes, dimensions — the Planes of Existence.  
__From the Sevenfold Heavens to the Nine Pits of Hell;  
__From the Endless Waters to the Silvery Void;  
__From the perfect Order to the howling Chaos to the limits of reality itself — and __**beyond.  
**__At the center of them all lies Sigil, the City of Doors, where belief has the power to control… the __**Planescape.**_

* * *

**Chapter 8:**** Love, Sex, Intelligence**

As he waited, Harry sipped his tea and relaxed in his chair, which was, indeed, very comfortable. After a few minutes of wriggling his toes on the carpet, he saw movement on the staircase at the back of the room. As Hermione and Ginny emerged, Harry suddenly felt very grateful he was wearing glasses to keep his eyeballs from popping out of their sockets.

Hermione's outfit consisted of purple strips of cloth attached to her neck which crossed over her chest and wrapped around her hips and thighs. Ginny's ensemble was much the same, but in a deep red color that matched her hair. While Hermione looked as if she was fighting the urge to cover herself, Ginny had a lively bounce in her step as if she suddenly felt lighter without the burden of clothing.

At that thought, Harry blushed and swallowed heavily. He realized he'd almost never seen either of the girls before without long-sleeved jumpers, long pants or skirts, or school robes; after all, the climate at Hogwarts wasn't exactly favorable for beachwear. As such, he'd never noticed before just how… _fit…_ Ginny was. If there'd been an ounce of misplaced fat on her, the barely-there outfit would have made it obvious; yet, try as he might, Harry couldn't find even one such bulge. There were, however, two bulges on her _chest_ that seemed to draw his eyes like magnets.

_Blimey… no wonder Dean Thomas is going out with her! _As his eyes drifted back to Ginny's chest, Harry laughed to himself as he remembered the little girl he'd rescued from the Chamber of Secrets. _I think __**those**__ prove she's not a little girl anymore. It's a good thing Ron doesn't know Legilimency or I'd be a dead man!_

As Harry tore his eyes away from Ginny to glance at Ron, he could see that his friend's attention seemed to be focused on other matters… namely, the two lumps of matter attached to _Hermione's_ chest. _Bloody hell, mate; if __**that**__ doesn't convince you to ask her out, __**nothing**__ will!_

An idea suddenly occurred to Harry as to why Hermione seemed nervous while Ginny did not. Despite being younger, Ginny had already gone out on dates with two boys (though, despite what Ron seemed to think, _not_ at the same time). Apart from her brief — and, thanks to Ron, _eventful_ — appearance at the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, Hermione had never gone out on a date before and wasn't used to the idea that boys might actually find her attractive.

Harry smiled as he realized why Grace had dared Hermione to wear the outfit. Despite her nervousness, Hermione really _wanted_ Ron to find her attractive — and, based on his reaction, she _definitely_ didn't disappoint. Harry had to admit _Ginny_ certainly wasn't disappointing _him_ either, though he figured it was probably for the best that she already had a boyfriend. Otherwise, he didn't think he could resist the temptation to ask her out himself — and he wasn't sure he wanted to know how Ron would react to _that._

He briefly wondered how Grace had managed to figure this out despite only having met them a few minutes ago. He then smiled at the thought that his friends' mutual attraction was blindingly obvious to everyone in the _planes_ except _them._ But, judging by the fact that Ron and Hermione's faces were now as red as Ron's hair… Harry guessed that there were no longer any exceptions to this rule.

As the girls stood in front of the group, Ginny did a little pirouette while Hermione folded her arms over her chest. Ginny frowned, then smacked her friend lightly on the arm. "Hermione, don't be shy. You're a Gryffindor, remember? You have nothing to fear."

Hermione smiled nervously, then held out her arms and turned around slowly. As she turned back to face Ron, her voice trembled. "W-Well? H-How do we look?"

Harry deliberately fixed his gaze on Hermione's eyes, then Ginny's. "Hermione… Ginny… both of you look _gorgeous._"

Ginny's grin widened while Hermione's blush deepened. Ron jerked his eyes up at Hermione and stammered. "_Y-Yeah,_ Hermione! I've never _seen_ you look so… so… _great!_"

Hermione's nervousness seemed to disappear abruptly as she frowned at Ron's awkward phrasing. James, however, was quick to intervene. "Ron _meant_ to say that, of course, you've _always_ looked great; he simply lacks the words to describe how the sight of your flawless skin astounds him."

"Yeah!" exclaimed Ron. "Yeah, that's right! You've _always_ looked like that, Hermione! Of _course!_"

Hermione laughed as the tension seemed to melt away from her body. "Ron, I sincerely doubt I've _ever_ looked quite like this before in my _life._ I mean, I've never even worn a two-piece bathing suit before!"

She paused. "Now that I think about it, there really isn't much difference between this and a bathing suit anyway. I guess it was pretty silly of me to get all worked up about it."

Grace smiled at her. "Not at all. It's only natural to be nervous when trying something new. The only question is whether or not you will let that _stop_ you."

Hermione nodded firmly. "You're right. I was nervous, but I _did_ it." She paused. "But, er… what do we do _now?_"

"Well, now that you two are dressed for the part," said Grace, "I thought it might be nice for you to experience what we do here first-hand."

"If I might venture a suggestion?" said James. "Mr. Weasley is said to be quite proficient at chess. Perhaps Miss Granger might do him the honour of putting his abilities to the test." He frowned slightly and shook his head. "Ah, no, that won't work; I'm afraid we don't have enough time for them to play a full game."

"Not to worry," said Grace. She gestured to her left. "Hermione, you and Ron can go to Room #3 over there. There's a chess set in the chest next to the table, as well as a book that lists famous chess endgames. Perhaps one of those would be appropriate for your remaining time. Ginny, you and Harry can go to Room #6 and engage in a bit of lively debate."

Ginny frowned slightly. "Debate? Well, what would we debate _about?_"

"Well… how about the house elf issue?" said Harry. "It's probably better for _us_ to debate it since Hermione's a little too involved in that topic."

"Well, of course I'm _involved,_ Harry," said Hermione, "and you should be too! House elves are _people;_ they don't deserve to be treated like slaves!" She paused, then laughed. "But, you're right. Whenever Ron and I 'discuss' that, it always turns into a shouting match. Maybe you two will be able to give the topic the dignified debate it deserves."

"Yeah, better you than me, mate," said Ron.

"Better?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. "We'll see who's _better_ when I beat you at our little game."

"Oh, come on, Hermione; you've never been able to beat me at chess before!"

Hermione grinned wickedly. "Oh, but this time, I think I might have an additional… _advantage._" She turned around slowly, giving Ron a good view of her backside. "Let's find out if Grace's theory is correct, shall we?"

Ron swallowed hard. "Er… hey, wait a minute. Is Lessia still in the bath?"

"Oh, yes," said Ginny, "and she looks like she couldn't be happier. I only hope she doesn't fall asleep in there and drown."

"She won't drown," said Hermione. "That tub has a place for her head that prevents it from sliding down. If she _does_ fall asleep, the only thing she'll have to worry about is looking like a prune."

"Oh, that won't be a problem either," said Grace. "We mix an alchemical solution with the bathwater specifically to prevent that from happening."

"Wow, you really think of everything," said Ginny. "It's too bad we didn't have time for a bath as well."

"Well, this place isn't really set up as a bathhouse," replied Grace. "If you're looking for that, may I suggest an establishment in the Guildhall Ward known as 'The Other Place'. I'm sure Mr. Black is familiar with it."

"Quite so," said James. "They don't just offer baths there, but a full range of massages and herbal treatments for the hair and skin. We'll have to schedule an appointment on your next trip here. Believe me, you _won't_ regret it."

"Is that the place where you stole the rich kid's clothes?" asked Tonks.

"No, I would never have gotten away with that there; they have better security."

Hermione frowned. "You _stole_ someone's _clothes?_"

"When I was _ten,_ my dear," replied James. "The statute of limitations has long since expired. And don't worry; that won't happen here either, so you needn't fear for your modesty when we leave."

Hermione laughed. "If I wore this _outside,_ I'd _freeze_ before I had time to worry about modesty!" She shivered. "Goodness, I feel cold just _thinking_ about it!"

"Well, it's a good thing you weren't here a few years ago," said Grace. "The _Tempus Sigilian_ once published an article about my establishment which not only brought in many new customers, but also sparked an inexplicable fashion trend. Upper-class women in this ward and elsewhere began wearing such outfits as their everyday attire."

"That's _mental!_" said Ginny. "How did _they_ avoid freezing?"

"Some of them wore cloaks when they were actually outside. Others simply pretended not to be cold as long as they could, then ducked into buildings and warmed themselves when they thought no one was looking."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "Somehow I doubt that particular fashion trend lasted very long."

"Mercifully, it did not," replied Grace, "though it wasn't because of the cold. My girls' outfits are professionally designed to allow proper fit. Back then, many women bought inferior copies of those designs, which had an unfortunate tendency to, shall we say, _slip._"

Tonks laughed. "Merlin's beard! So, where _do_ you get official Brothel wear around here?"

"A tailor named Goncalves makes them; his shop is only a few blocks from here. If you're interested, tell him I sent you; he'll give you 10% off his usual rate."

"Thank the Powers that Lessia didn't hear you say that," said Zanton. "She'd be halfway to the shop before you finished the sentence."

Grace smiled. "Yes, she is quite a fashion enthusiast, isn't she?"

"Everyone needs a vice," said James, "and that one's fairly harmless as long as you're rich. But, let's not delay our Brothelettes any longer." He glanced at Hermione and Ginny. "It's time for you two to get to work! You've got customers waiting!"

Ginny took Harry's hand. "Well, come on, _customer._ Let's stop waiting and get to debating!"

As Hermione and Ron walked away to begin their game, Harry and Ginny went to Room #6 and closed the door. Inside was a small wooden table covered with a red velvet cloth as well as two comfortable-looking chairs. Ginny sat down, folded her arms on the table in front of her, and smiled.

"Well, Harry, why don't you start. Tell me why you think house elves should be freed."

Harry sat down across from her. "Well… I guess because they're people. It's just wrong to keep a person as your slave. I mean, the Muggles abolished slavery in England in the early 19th century, and, since then, every other country has done so as well. Why should the wizarding world remain so far behind the times?"

Ginny nodded. "That's all well and good when you're talking about humans, but house-elves are different. They may be _people,_ but they're not _human._"

"That doesn't make them any less than us."

Ginny held up her hand. "I didn't say that. What I'm _saying_ is that they're _different_ from humans; they _think_ differently than we do. Hermione doesn't get that; she thinks she's William Wilberforce and Abraham Lincoln rolled up into one."

She smiled at Harry's surprised expression. "Yes, Harry, I actually went to a Muggle library and read about the history of slavery after Hermione pestered me to join SPEW for the umpteenth time. I figured books would be the best way to understand where she was coming from. I mean, I hate to say Hermione 'means well,' because that sounds like a backhanded insult, but she — and you — weren't raised in the wizarding culture. The relationship between a house-elf and a wizarding family is nothing like the slavery Muggles used to practise."

"Yeah, but, how can you say that, knowing what the Malfoys used to do to Dobby? I mean, they forced him to iron his hands as a punishment!"

"See, Harry, that's exactly what I'm talking about! The only elves you know — apart from Phoebe, I suppose — are Dobby and Winky, both of whom come from abusive families. Oh, and, of course, there's Kreacher, who's been alone in that house for years with no one but a horrible painting for company. They're not exactly what you would call normal examples. I mean, of course it's wrong for wizards to abuse and _degrade_ their elves, but that's not the way the relationship is supposed to work. Would you think it was wrong for a Muggle to have a butler or a maid?"

"But, Ginny, butlers and maids get _paid._ If they don't like their employer, they can _quit._"

"But an elf _does_ get a reward for his service, even if it's not in the form of gold. House-elves bond themselves to wizards because the bond sustains and strengthens their magic."

Harry blinked in surprise. "_What?_ I never knew _that._"

Ginny sighed. "You didn't know because that's not something Hogwarts teaches. It's the sort of thing wizarding families teach their children."

"Well, why _doesn't_ Hogwarts teach that? They know perfectly well not every student is a pureblood."

"Harry, come on. Why do you think?"

Harry sighed. "Because pureblood supremacists like _Malfoy_ don't want them to."

"Of course not. They don't want half-bloods and Muggle-borns to know about wizarding culture because it makes it easier for them to look down on you."

Harry smiled. "So, they want to keep us Clueless, huh?"

Ginny laughed. "Exactly. I mean, it works the other way around as well. I read things in that library that _astounded_ me, things I'd never heard of before in my _life._ Now, why doesn't Muggle Studies teach us any of that? Same reason. Wizards are awesome, Muggles stink, and no one should ever learn anything that makes them question that."

"Wow, Ginny; it sounds like you're pretty passionate about this issue."

"Yeah, I guess our debate has changed direction, now, hasn't it?" She paused. "I mean, take Dad, for example. He always says he wants to know more about Muggles, but what has he actually _done?_ If his fondest dream is to learn what holds airplanes up, why doesn't he just go the library and read about it?"

"Did you?"

"Well, I _tried,_ but, as it turns out, most _Muggles_ don't know what holds airplanes up, either. I mean, the books I read either said such-and-such explanation is wrong without really explaining the _right_ answer, or they were filled with squiggly lines and Greek letters that must be the Muggle equivalent of ancient runes or something."

Ginny laughed. "What I'm saying is, wizards either pride themselves on _not_ knowing about Muggles, or, like Dad, pride themselves on what little they _do_ know without actually knowing how little that is. Does that make sense?"

Harry smiled. "I think so. Essentially, you're saying the Statute of Secrecy shouldn't work both ways."

"Exactly! There is no reason wizards can't learn to integrate more effectively into Muggle society! That would not only soften the prejudice against Muggles and Muggle-borns in wizarding society, but it would also _improve _our ability to keep magic a secret. I mean, you've seen what some of those old purebloods wear when they're trying to go 'undercover'! If more wizards knew about something as basic as ordinary Muggle clothes, it would be a lot easier for them to avoid standing out."

Ginny sighed. "The problem is, I don't know if we're even going to have that chance with the Death Eaters doing their damndest to expose us! The last time, the Muggles could explain away magical deaths as a gas explosion or something, but the Death Eaters are going farther than they ever did before. They sent a _giant _to attack a Muggle town, for heaven's sake! Do you have any _idea_ how hard it was for the Ministry to cover that up? And you _know_ the DEs are just getting started. What will happen when a Dark Mark appears above Buckingham Palace?"

Harry shook his head. "Voldemort's not going to do anything _that_ obvious. Attacks like the giant are just so he can run the Ministry ragged. He knows they'll be forced to use all their resources to maintain secrecy, so they won't have anyone left to go on the offensive."

"But my _point_ is that if things keep going as they have, even all the Ministry's resources won't be _enough._ And, don't forget, the Muggle Prime Minister already knows what's really going on. No Prime Minister has ever tried to reveal the wizarding world before because everyone would think he was barking mad. But, if strange things keep happening that the Ministry can't cover up… it might not stay that way for long."

Harry sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. "And then it's back to the bad old days of witch hunts."

"Yeah, only this time, it would be a whole lot _worse._ If there's one thing I've learned about Muggle history, it's that they're always building newer and deadlier weapons. And what do _we_ have? The same old wands we've had for thousands of years."

Harry paused as he contemplated the idea. "Blimey, Ginny. And I thought Voldemort was already depressing _enough._"

She reached across the table and grasped his hand. "Well, just because it _could_ happen that way doesn't mean it _will._ Don't forget; we've got new friends now that Voldemort knows absolutely nothing about."

Harry chuckled ruefully. "That's assuming Snape doesn't tell him all about them right after the meeting tonight."

Ginny smiled. "Come on, Harry. We all know Snape's a right git in the classroom; there's not a single non-Slytherin in Hogwarts who would deny it. But Dumbledore wouldn't allow him into the meeting if he wasn't absolutely sure Snape was on our side."

"Yeah, that's what everyone keeps telling me. But if Snape's really good enough to fool Voldemort, then why couldn't he be good enough to fool Dumbledore? I mean, Barty Crouch did it; why couldn't Snape do just as well?"

"Look, Harry; do you really think that thought has never crossed Dumbledore's mind? I mean, he _is_ the most brilliant wizard in the world; I'm sure he's well aware of any tricks Snape might use against him. With Crouch, Dumbledore never had any _reason_ to suspect him; if he had, he could have dispelled Crouch's Polyjuice disguise with a flick of his wand. As for Voldemort, well… you should know better than anyone that, despite his power, he doesn't really have a lot of common sense."

Harry laughed. "Of course not; _common_ sense is for _commoners!_ He's the 'Dark _Lord_', after all. And, you know, I think that has to be his greatest weakness; he puts his ego first, no matter what. I mean… why else would Crouch have spent the entire school year plotting to have me win the Triwizard Tournament when he could've just, I dunno, slipped some poison into my pumpkin juice? Because Voldemort _didn't_ just want me dead; he wanted to make a big _show_ out of it."

He paused. "Remember how he turned the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey? It took me to the graveyard, but it also took me _back._ I always wondered why he did that; I mean, it's not like he _wanted_ me to escape. But, you know what? It actually makes sense if it was meant to have been part of the show! At the height of the Tournament, with the entire wizarding world watching, Voldemort would've appeared in front of everyone with my lifeless body in front of him and the Triwizard Cup held high in triumph!"

Harry clapped his hands together. "Wow. That would have been like something right out of a _movie!_ It's too bad I had to live and spoil all the fun!" He paused, then smiled sheepishly at Ginny. "Oh, er, I don't know if you're familiar with…"

Ginny sighed. "Yes, Harry, I know what a movie is. I _have_ actually discussed the Muggle world with Hermione before." She shook her head. "_Ron,_ on the other hand, just wants to discuss _homework_ with her. I mean, seriously; when is _he_ going to come to his senses and ask her out?"

Harry smiled. "I think that's exactly what Grace is setting him up for."

"Yeah, well, he'd better do it soon, or she'll slip away from him. Viktor Krum isn't the _only_ boy in the world who finds her attractive." Ginny frowned, then regarded him with a questioning look.

Harry laughed. "Well, of _course_ I find Hermione attractive! In _that_ outfit, a bloke would have to be blind _not_ to! It's just…"

He sighed. "I think of her like my big sister, you know? I mean, I won't say the thought of dating her has never crossed my mind, but I just can't see that working out between us. I get the feeling that if we actually went out, we'd just be going through the motions and playing things safe. There wouldn't be that… _passion_ there, you know? I just can't see myself trying to sweep her off her feet."

"Not even with your _broom,_ Harry?" said Ginny teasingly.

"Ginny, if I took her up on my Firebolt and did even _half_ the moves I usually do in Quidditch, she'd be screaming, _'Help! Put me down! Are you trying to kill us? This is insane!'_"

Both of them broke out in laughter. After a few moments, Ginny restrained herself. "We're being horrible, aren't we? Laughing about Hermione behind her back."

"Yeah, we really shouldn't do that; it's not very nice."

The two of them were silent for a moment, then broke out laughing again. As Harry calmed down, he grinned at Ginny. "Blimey, this is turning out to be quite the debate, isn't it?"

Ginny returned his grin. "Yeah, I can see why the customers here enjoy it so much."

Harry paused. "So, what _are_ we debating now, anyway?"

"How wizards can have better relations with Muggles."

"Oh, right. So, assuming we defeat Voldemort and live to tell about it, how do you propose we improve wizard/Muggle relations?"

"Actually, I think we should ask our new friends about that."

Harry frowned in confusion. "But how would they know anything about it? Phoebe just arrived on Earth, what, a couple of weeks ago?"

Ginny smiled. "And, in that time, she seems to have learned more about Muggles than most wizards do in their whole _lives._ She can dress like a Muggle, she knows how to use a telephone… remember that time Ron tried to call you at the Dursleys?"

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, that didn't work out so well. I agree, though; Phoebe doesn't seem like she'd make that kind of mistake. I mean, if there's something she doesn't know, she can just ask Wendy about it. But, that's not something most wizards can do; at least, not legally. It would strain the limits of the Statute of Secrecy if a wizard just asked a Muggle how to use a telephone."

"But, Harry, there are Muggles who are legally allowed to know about the wizarding world. In fact, I'm sure you can think of _two_ of them right now."

Harry snapped his fingers. "Of course. Hermione's parents!" He paused. "You know, I just realized I don't even know their names. How weird is that? I've been best friends with Hermione for five years and I never even _asked!_"

Ginny laughed. "Well, fortunately, I _did;_ their names are John and Frances. And I think it would be perfect if Mum and Dad would ask them over for dinner."

As Harry started to reply, she held up her hand. "I know what you're going to say; it's not safe right now, especially with this prediction about Ron being attacked. But, honestly, Harry; are Hermione's parents really any safer at home? The Ministry knows where they live, which means the Death Eaters could easily find them. And what better targets than the defenceless parents of a Muggle-born?"

Harry sighed. "You're right. But what can they _do?_ There's really nowhere in Britain where they'd be safe. Maybe they should flee the country and move to… I dunno, Australia?" He chuckled. "Or, why stop there? They could just move right into Lessia's warehouse!"

Ginny smiled and shook her head. "Somehow, I doubt they'd prefer that last option, though I'm sure the gnomes would be happy to oblige. But, our friends really are planning to protect Wendy and her flat. Maybe they can find a way to protect the Grangers as well."

"I hope so, though I'm beginning to have my doubts about how safe _this_ place is. I mean, a gang of murderers throwing firebombs in a restaurant? An Anarchist releasing poison gas in a government building?"

"Yeah, but did you forget? Those people are all _dead._ In this town, the authorities can actually _stop_ criminals like that." Ginny chuckled ruefully. "No offense to Tonks, but the only Death Eaters the Aurors have arrested so far are the ones _we_ fought in the Department of Mysteries! Oh, and, of course, the ones Celeste and Phoebe just happened to bump into at the Leaky Cauldron. I mean, Celeste wrestled a _werewolf_ to the ground with her bare _hands!_ Heck, if _that's_ what law enforcement in Sigil is like, I'd feel safer moving here myself!"

Harry and Ginny laughed.

"All right, then," said Harry. "So, we agree that we should ask our new friends about better relations with the Muggles and how to protect Hermione's parents."

"Great! And, since it was my idea, I win the debate!"

"I don't think you're meant to win or lose these debates, Ginny; they're just for fun."

"Yeah, right. You're only saying that because you _lost._"

The two of them laughed again.

"Wow," said Harry. "That really _was_ fun. I guess there's something to this intellectual lust thing after all."

Ginny grinned. "Well, I've got to admit, you went through the whole debate without once staring at my breasts. Pretty impressive."

Harry's gaze reflexively dropped to Ginny's chest; he quickly looked back up at her face and blushed. She chuckled. "Harry, relax; I wouldn't have worn this outfit if I didn't want you to at least check out my assets. Grace was right; a girl doesn't want to be treated as an object, but she _does_ want boys to find her attractive now and again."

"Yeah, but… should you really be doing that for me? I mean, you are going out with Dean Thomas, right?"

"Oh, my God. Poor Dean would _faint_ if he saw me in this outfit; not to mention that Ron would punch his lights out. But I know you're a perfect gentleman, Harry, and there's nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting with a friend."

"Right! Er… with a friend! Of course."

Ginny chuckled and shook her head. "Harry, we really need to work on your girl skills. This year, you're going to find yourself a real girlfriend at Hogwarts."

"Hey! Cho was my girlfriend, wasn't she?"

"She _liked_ you, Harry, but she really just wanted someone to comfort her after losing Cedric. I believe the technical term for that is a 'rebound relationship.' You don't want to be someone for your girlfriend to fall back on; you need to be number one in her eyes."

"Hmmm…" Harry smiled at Ginny. "I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

"Well…" Ginny sighed. "The problem is that all the girls at school want to go out with the Boy-Who-Lived. You need to find someone who likes you just as Harry."

"Yeah, you're right; a girl like that would be hard to find at Hogwarts. Maybe I should date a Muggle instead."

Ginny clapped her hands. "_There_ you go! Now, that's exactly what you need! You should go out there, find yourself a nice Muggle girl, and snog her senseless!"

Harry laughed. "I guess that's _one_ way to improve wizard/Muggle relations!"

He stood up. "I think our time is almost up. You should probably get dressed and get ready to go."

Ginny also stood. "All right. Let's see if my brother managed to avoid getting distracted."

As the two of them emerged from the room, they were greeted by the enthusiastic sound of James's voice. "Ah! Our debaters return! I trust you had sufficient time for a meeting of the minds?"

"Something like that," said Ginny. "Our brains got a bit of exercise, at least."

"Splendid!" exclaimed James. "It would seem our time here was well-spent." He glanced at Grace. "Not that it could ever be otherwise, of course."

Grace smiled. "Of course. And what do you think, Harry?"

"Well… I don't think I've ever really had a chance to just _talk_ with Ginny like that before. She had some very good ideas that I'll really have to think about."

"Excellent," said Grace. "New ideas are the beginning of all wisdom."

She glanced at Room #3. "It looks like your friends are still playing." She turned to James. "Shall I go and retrieve them?"

James checked his pocketwatch. "If you could please let them know they have five more minutes."

"Very well."

Ginny frowned slightly as she looked around the room. "Lessia's not back up yet?"

Zanton sighed. "She's probably asleep. Ginny, if you wouldn't mind going down there and waking her up?"

"Oh, sure!" said Ginny. She went to the back of the room and disappeared down the staircase.

James smiled at Harry and leaned back in his chair. "Poor Lessia. She should really just go back home and rest, but I know she'll insist on coming with us. The Skyleaf clan must be represented and all that. I just hope she can hold out long enough to get to Chirper's; after that, a pint of dwarven coffee should perk her up."

Zanton shook his head. "She's been getting far too little rest lately. If she's not out working all night, she's out at the pubs drinking and carousing."

"_Oooh!_ Shocking!"

"James, _stop_ that. I'm worried about her _health,_ not her morals."

James shrugged. "I know, but you're not going to get anywhere by nagging her. She's an Indep; she'll resist you purely on principle."

"Well, then, _you_ should persuade her to get some rest and come to Earth tomorrow instead of tonight," said Zanton. "I could carry her back to the warehouse and wait there until you return from Chirper's."

James's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Why, then, I'd be the only one left! You wouldn't leave me _alone_ with these people, would you?"

"For _their_ sake, I probably shouldn't," replied Zanton. "You've already talked them _half_ to death; if I leave, you'll finish them off."

James laughed. "Well, then, it's a good thing we'll be rejoining Phoebe at the courthouse. Not to worry, my friends; she'll won't let me rattle my bone-box _too_ much."

After about two minutes, Ron and Hermione emerged from Room #3 with smiles on their faces. Ron turned to Harry and raised his hands in a victory gesture.

"The winner, and still chess champion of Hogwarts… _Ronald Weasley!_"

Harry laughed. "Good for you, mate! I guess you didn't get distracted after all." He grinned at Hermione.

She chuckled. "No, I'm impressed; Ron actually managed to defy the stereotype."

"Well, it wasn't _easy,_ mate," said Ron. "Hermione _is_ the smartest girl in Hogwarts, after all." He smiled at her. "But, for _this_ game, it's probably a good thing she lost. The book said a famous chess master beat something called an 'illithid' to prove he was smarter. The illithid agreed, then — get this — _ate his brain!_ _**Ewww!**_"

"He may have been smart, but he certainly wasn't _wise,_" said Zanton. "Illithids are creatures who derive sustenance from the brains of intelligent beings. Proving that you're smart to one of them is the same as proving that you're _tasty._"

James smiled at Hermione's worried expression. "Don't worry, Hermione; you have nothing to fear on that score. The only illithid I know of in Sigil is a member of the Fraternity of Order, and if _Phoebe_ doesn't have to worry about her brain being eaten, _no one_ does."

He gestured at the staircase in the back of the room. "Well, you'd better get dressed; we'll need to get going shortly. Ginny's already down there; hopefully, she'll have dragged Lessia out of the tub by now."

"I _knew_ she'd fall asleep in there," said Hermione. "Is she really going to be able to come to the meeting tonight?"

Zanton shook his head. "No, I'm taking her back to the warehouse to rest. She can hardly help us explain things if she's yawning with every sentence."

Hermione nodded, then disappeared down the rear staircase. After a short time, a fully dressed Ginny emerged, accompanied by a very tired-looking Lessia. The gnome girl's hair was damp and unbraided, and her light blue tunic was not tucked into her dark green pants. Ginny was carrying Lessia's backpack on one arm while helping her up the stairs with the other.

After she finished climbing the staircase, Lessia yawned and shook her head as if to clear it. "Whew! You know, if I'd just stayed awake, I could've kept going without too much trouble. But, if you fall asleep and then have to wake up right away, it's just…"

She shook her head again. "I don't know if coffee's even going to be enough. James, do we have any of that elixir or extract or whatever that was?"

Zanton knelt down beside her. "Lessia, you're in no condition to assist us right now. Let me take you back to your room at the warehouse so you can rest."

"No, I _can't,_" protested Lessia weakly. "I have to be there tonight to represent the company."

James smiled. "You have to be _awake_ to do that, you know… unless you want me to do that ventriloquist act again." He spoke in a high-pitched voice and opened and closed his left hand as if it were a mouth. "Hello, everyone! I'm Lessia Skyleaf! I'm not awake right now, so I couldn't stop my friends from dressing me in this _adorable_ — "

"All _right!_" She sighed. "I swear, you lose one sodding bet..."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement. "There's no need for any of you to go out of your way. I can Apparate her back to the warehouse and return here forthwith."

James raised his eyebrows. "And you'll still be able to do that again with us as well?"

"Of course."

"Hmmm." He shrugged. "Well, I guess that's why you're the headmaster."

"You'll have to reappear just outside the front door, though," said Lessia. "The warehouse is too big to ward it all against teleportation, but if you just pop in there without warning, the guards will shoot you on sight."

"Well! I shall endeavour to be precise, then." Dumbledore held out his hand to Lessia. "Shall we, my dear?"

"Wait," interrupted Ginny. "Do you want your backpack back?"

"No, that's fine," said Lessia. "One of you can hold onto it. It's still got all your stuff in it anyway."

Dumbledore smiled. "Very well, then. If you'll just take my hand, we'll be off."

Lessia yawned. "Sounds good to me."

She reached up and grasped Dumbledore's left hand. In an instant, the two of them looked as if they'd been twisted into a knot which spun around and shrank until it vanished completely with a loud **pop.**

Grace raised her eyebrows. "Interesting. That doesn't resemble any form of teleportation I'm familiar with."

"I haven't seen its like either," said Zanton. "I wonder what Phoebe will make of it."

After a short wait, another knot appeared and untwisted itself into Professor Dumbledore. "Well, I've seen Miss Skyleaf safely to the warehouse door. I do hope she feels better after a nice, long rest."

"Excellent!" said James. "Now we just need to wait for Hermione to get dressed and we'll be on our way. Ginny, could I have the backpack, please?" After she handed it to him, James reached inside and began removing coats and shoes. James put on his cloak, then placed his arm through the backpack's tiny strap. In an instant, the backpack grew to an appropriate size as James finished putting it on.

"It adjusts itself to fit you?" said Ron. "Cool!"

"Most wearable magical items do," said James, "though armour is something of an exception. Lessia's armour, for instance, would adjust to fit another gnome, but it wouldn't be able to fit you or me. There's a technical reason for that; something about how the protective properties of armour limit its flexibility. I'm sure Phoebe could explain it, but I wouldn't advise asking unless you've got nothing else to do for the next two days."

Hermione emerged from the rear staircase wearing her jeans and jumper. As she approached the group, James tossed her shoes and coat to her, then attached his rapier and whip to his belt.

"All right, then! Looks like it's time for us to go. Now, don't put your shoes on until you get to the entranceway; we don't want to defeat the purpose of taking them off in the first place."

James turned to Grace. "Mistress Grace, your hospitality has, once again, been outstanding. I'm sure our new friends here feel the same way."

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore. "I must say, I look forward to returning here soon. Once I've had a chance to learn more about the relevant local issues, I hope you'll do me the honour of a debate sometime."

Grace smiled. "I would be happy to, Professor."

Ginny glanced at Hermione, then smiled at Grace. "Mistress Grace, Hermione and I would like to thank you for a most… _educational_ experience."

Hermione laughed. "Yes, it definitely taught me a few things. Thank you."

James cast a glance at Harry and Ron, then turned back to Grace. "It looks as if the boys are a bit too tongue-tied to give you a proper farewell, so, on their behalf, I would thank you for providing them with the opportunity for extended practical observation of the integument and pectoral structure of the female adolescent humanoid."

Grace laughed. "That's not _quite_ what I mean by the concept of intellectual lust."

"Hmmm. And here I thought it meant being married to a Guvner."

"Good day, Mistress Grace," said Zanton. "May your path lead you ever to the Source."

"I would gladly follow that path," said Grace, "if only my _senses_ could perceive it."

Zanton laughed. "Well, I commend you for your loyalty to your faction, at least. Until next time."

Grace bowed politely. "Good day."

As the group was putting on their shoes and coats in the entranceway, Zanton smiled at Harry's questioning expression. "Grace and I have a friendly rivalry going on between our two factions. I keep trying to persuade her that the Believers of the Source is a far more appropriate faction for her than the Sensates, and she always finds a way to decline with wit and politeness. The unimaginable things she has endured in her life, and the astounding success she has achieved — not in _spite_ of this, but _because_ of this — is at the very _core_ of what my faction is about."

He shrugged. "The Sensates? They can tell you the intricate details of the flavour of a glass of _wine_."

"Ah, but that would be very useful information if the glass of wine has been _poisoned,_" said James. "And, since tanar'ri are immune to poison, inviting Grace the Sensate to dinner would give one a distinct advantage."

"True," replied Zanton, "but that's hardly significant enough to form the foundation for one's entire philosophy of _life._"

James grinned. "Are we _debating?_ I don't think we're properly attired."

Everyone laughed.

Once everyone was finished getting ready, the group left the Brothel and stood on the street outside; Dumbledore turned to address them.

"All right, then. If my students would please join hands with each other and myself, we can Apparate to the square outside the courthouse at once. Miss Tonks, I trust you'll be able to handle the two gentlemen?"

Tonks smiled. "Oh, I don't think anyone can _handle_ Mr. Black, but I'm sure I can manage to Apparate him."

James laughed. "We've only first met such a short time ago, and, yet, you know me so well."

Harry grasped Dumbledore's and Ginny's hands while the others took their positions. He suddenly felt as if he was being squeezed through a long, thin tube while spinning. Thankfully, the sensation only lasted a few seconds before the group reappeared in the courthouse square.

Harry took a deep breath and shook his head to clear it; Hermione was also doing the same. "Well," she said, "that was… rather disorienting. Is that how Apparition always feels, Professor?"

"Not quite, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "I'm afraid the disorientation is more intense with more people. Once you obtain your own license, you should find solo Apparition to be rather more pleasant."

Harry chuckled. "I'm only worried that we'll have to do that again right after we _eat!_ I don't think Lessia would be happy if we got sick on the floor of her warehouse."

"Perhaps you'd better off travelling with Phoebe for the return trip," said Zanton. "I assure you, her method of teleportation is rather less _twisted._"

James chuckled. "Yes, it is a rather _unique_ experience, is it not?" He turned to Tonks. "No offense, my lady."

Tonks laughed. "None taken. If you do it enough times, you'll get used to it eventually."

"Ah! Rather like getting arrested. Not that I'd know."

James checked his pocketwatch. "Well, how about that; we're two minutes early! Looks like time is on my side today." He glanced at the courthouse. "Phoebe should be coming out those doors any second now as it'll take her about a minute to walk over here."

"Is she seriously timing this down to the _second?_" asked Harry.

James smiled. "Of course! For a native of the clockwork plane of Mechanus, timing is everything."

As predicted, Harry soon saw a figure leaving the courthouse and crossing the square. Once she reached James, she gave him a warm hug.

"Looks like you're right on time, my dear, as always," said James.

Phoebe grinned. "But of course." She looked at the group, then frowned in confusion. "Where's Lessia?"

"She was too tired to continue," said Zanton, "so Professor Dumbledore teleported her back to the warehouse to rest. His method of teleportation seems quite different from yours, so I'm sure you'll want to study that later."

"Oh, I already saw the Professor do that once, though, admittedly, not up close. I'm sure I'll soon have plenty of opportunities to see it again and again."

Phoebe turned to Dumbledore. "Well, Professor, you'll be pleased to know that I had a chance to talk with my student. He said his father's coming to Sigil on a business trip in ten days, and there shouldn't be any problems having his mother accompany him."

"Splendid!" said Dumbledore. "What is your student's name, by the way?"

"It's Timothy Jacynth," replied Phoebe. "He's nineteen years old and is rapidly becoming a proficient wizard. His father, Penrose, is a merchant who specialises in rare spell components, so his business often brings him to Sigil. His mother, Miranda, is a priestess who lives just outside a town called Hardby on a Material world called Oerth. I've never met her, but Timothy's told me all about her. I'm sure she'll be able to help you, or, at least, point us in the right direction."

Dumbledore nodded. "I look forward to meeting her."

Phoebe smiled, then turned to James. "Oh, and I picked up my new rank insignia. I did that last so as few people as possible would realize that I'd been promoted." She gestured at two pins attached to her shirt. On her left breast was the dagger-and-flame symbol on the courthouse which Harry presumed was the symbol of the Fraternity of Order; on her right was a five-pointed star with a small ruby mounted in the lower left-hand point.

Hermione examined the pins closely. "So, if there are five points, does that mean there are five ranks?"

"That's right," said Phoebe. "Bureau Chiefs are ranked from B5, which is my rank, to B1, the rank held by the chiefs of the five Star Bureaus. Below us are the Administrators, ranked from A10 to A1; their insignia is a triangle that gets filled in with tiny semi-precious gems as they advance. The lowest-ranking Guvners are called Aides; they only wear the faction symbol by itself."

"So, what does the, er… faction leader wear?" asked Ron.

"He's called the _factol,_ Ron," replied Phoebe, "and, usually, he just wears the faction insignia. I mean, there's only one factol, so he doesn't need anything special to identify himself to other Guvners. On formal occasions, he wears a fur-trimmed robe and carries a jewelled sceptre as his badge of office."

"Most factions have a similar hierarchy," said James. "A factol on top, two tiers of ranks in the middle, and a bunch of peasants at the bottom that everyone else enjoys giving orders to. And, the thing is, they _willingly_ embrace such indignity in hopes of being promoted so they can one day treat _others_ like peasants."

"Since when have I ever treated an Aide like a peasant?" said Phoebe. "For that matter, when did Zeck ever treat _me_ that way when I was an Aide?"

"Zeck wanted your people's firearms technology," replied James, "so he had to be nice to ensure you'd cooperate." He snapped his fingers. "And… oh, yes, there was that little incident right after you arrived that got you a medal for 'Meritorious Service to the Law.'"

Phoebe frowned and clenched her fists. "Have you been telling _that_ story again? How many people did I shoot _this_ time? Two _hundred?_"

"Relax, Phoebe," said Zanton. "This time, I kept the discussion to the facts."

Phoebe sighed. "Thank the Powers."

"Why do I get the impression you _really_ don't like that newspaper article James wrote?" said Tonks.

Phoebe smiled and shook her head. "Well, you know, every couple has personality conflicts sometimes. Despite the fact that we're from opposing factions, we don't have nearly as many conflicts as most people would think. But, there are still some things that cause us to collide head-on, and _that_… is one of them."

She paused. "I suppose it's because that event is so emotionally significant for both of us. For me, it was my first battle _and_ my first date! For James, it was meeting the woman he was going to marry — "

"And watching her nearly getting herself killed!" interrupted James.

"Yes, that's true," said Phoebe. "But would I have done it any differently? No. I mean, of course I didn't _want_ to be killed; not just for myself, but for my parents' sake as well. When I left my home for Sigil, everyone thought my parents' little construct project was a failure; they said I wouldn't last a week. If I'd have been killed, forty-two years of research and development would've been dumped into the _sewer_ and no one would've respected my parents for _centuries._ But, when the battle was over, I thought that would be it; the pressure would be off and I could go back to being a normal Guvner."

"In other words, you would've willingly been a _peasant,_" said James. "You see? Even if I was right for the wrong reasons, I was _right._"

"What kind of Anarchist looks down on the peasants?" said Hermione. "Shouldn't you be all about the freedom of the common man?"

"Of course," said James. "If someone is _born_ a serf and had no choice in the matter, then he is clearly one of the oppressed and must be freed. But someone who binds himself to a faction, not out of duress, but by _choice?_ How can you free someone who _wants_ to be a slave?"

"_Yeah,_ Hermione," said Ron with a smug expression on his face. "How _can_ SPEW do that?"

Hermione frowned. "Mr. Black, when we get to the meeting tonight, I am going to tell you all about house-elves. If you're looking for oppression, just wait until I describe how shamefully these innocent beings are treated by wizards!"

Ginny smiled. "And _I'll_ describe how the issue isn't _quite_ as black and white as Hermione paints it. Maybe we could have… a _debate?_"

Hermione laughed. "I walked right into _that_ one, didn't I? Should we both put on those outfits again?"

"Why not? If we're going to have a serious debate, we should at least dress like _professionals._"

Both girls laughed; Phoebe turned to James and sighed. "You took them to the _Brothel?_ James, why do you always _do_ this? Mrs. Weasley trusted me with her _children;_ what is _she_ going to say when she finds out where they've been?"

James assumed an expression of feigned innocence. "Why should there be a problem taking them to a location that Professor Dumbledore himself approved of?"

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "Ms. Black, there's no reason to be alarmed. I assure you that nothing improper took place."

"Yes, but is Mrs. Weasley going to think so?" Phoebe shook her head. "I know I've mentioned how certain words mean different things on Earth and the planes, but, somehow, I don't think that 'brothel' is one of them. In this specific _case,_ it does, but how am I supposed to explain that to somebody's _mother?_"

"Then don't _use_ the word," said James. "_Honestly._ Professor Dumbledore said it was similar to a type of establishment on Earth called a geisha house; just tell her that."

"Oh, all right. If the Professor says so." Dumbledore nodded; Phoebe paused. "Actually, my student, Miho, also told me the same thing after she went there, though she said that, in her country, women were required to cover up."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "You have a student named _Miho_ who knows what a _geisha_ house is? I… don't suppose you could tell me where she's from?"

"She's originally from a nation called Rokugan on a Material world like yours," replied Phoebe. "Her people refer to their world as _Ningen-d__ō__,_ the Human Realm. Does that sound familiar?"

"Well, no," said Hermione. "It's just that geisha houses are found in a country on Earth called Japan, and 'Miho' sounds like a Japanese name. Before, I would have thought that was just a coincidence, but together with that whole thing about the Norse gods, I suppose it _can't_ be, can it?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot to mention that," said Zanton. "Apparently, the Asgardian pantheon is known on Earth; Hermione recognized them when we were talking to Black Marian."

"I see," said Phoebe. "One more thing to look into, I suppose."

"And, with that," said James, "I think we should proceed to Chirper's before these two overwhelm us with _their_ intellectual lust."

Tonks laughed. "Yeah, next time, Phoebe and I should wear those outfits!"

Phoebe smiled. "I've tried that before, and I think it looks silly. I just don't see the point in wearing the minimum clothing possible to avoid getting arrested."

"And, knowing the Guvners, there must be a law somewhere that specifies the precise details," said James. He clapped his hands together. "But enough of that. Let's be on our way before the food gets cold!"

* * *

Yes, this story has Ron/Hermione and Harry/Ginny as couples. I know, I know; how _utterly_ conventional. Don't get me wrong; some of my favorite stories are Harry/Hermione ships. The problem is, those stories almost always include **Evil™ **Dumbledore who's been stealing from Harry's vault to pay **Evil™ **Ginny to enslave Harry with love potions, and _this_ story requires that those two be of good alignment. I'm afraid it simply wouldn't do for Celeste to be morally obliged to kill them. :)

If you have a copy of **Planescape: Torment, **then you can easily find out what the Brothel girls' outfits look like; just look up "Upper-Class Townie, Female" and you'll see a picture. For some bizarre reason, every woman in the game dresses like this — including a sixty-year-old Guvner _judge._ (You don't want to know where she keeps her gavel.)

In the next chapter, **The Big Meeting™** takes place, though it may take more than one chapter to complete. Rather than writing yet another chapter about their visit to Chirper's, I'll simply have Harry and company describe it at the meeting. I mean, I thought I was only going to write _one_ chapter between Chapter 5 and the meeting! I _did…_ then it was too long for one chapter… then it was too long for _two._ Now I understand how Peter Jackson must have felt when writing the script for **The Hobbit.**

**PJ: **OK, if **Deathly Hallows **can have two movies, then so can **The Hobbit.** That gives me room to put in the White Council… and Radagast. Yeah! The fans are always speculating about him on the Internet. But all we know is that he's "The Brown" and likes animals. How can we build on that?

**Stoned Intern: **_Duuude,_ what if Radagast rode a sled pulled by, like, giant _bunnies!_ And… and what if he _totally_ found out that Sauron was back by, like, poking a _hedgehog!_

**PJ: **Dude, that is _awesome!_ Someone give this guy a raise! We need to put out a trailer with that in it right _now!_

**Non-Stoned Intern:** Sir, I'm not sure the budget for two movies can handle giant bunnies.

**PJ:** All right, then; we'll do _three!_ I mean, I already did _one_ trilogy, right?

**NSI: **Sir, have you actually _seen_ the books of **The Hobbit** and **The Lord of the Rings** placed side-by-side? Isn't one of them… how shall I say this… somewhat _larger_ than the other?

**PJ:** Yeah, but I had to cut all that stuff out of **Lord of the Rings! **For the **Hobbit Part III,** we can finally tell the untold story of how Lobelia Sackville-Baggins stole Bilbo's silver spoons!

But, however long it takes to complete this meeting… and it _will_ be completed… then, immediately afterwards, at long last… Sirius and the mysterious villain from the Prologue will finally show their faces on **Earth!**


End file.
